


Go the Distance

by Adri_James



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hercules (1997), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't Examine This Too Closely, M/M, but with Steve, featuring Baby Steve, follows the Disney Hercules storyline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-14 14:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adri_James/pseuds/Adri_James
Summary: Steve Rogers was created to be the perfect super soldier…except he doesn’t know that yet. For eighteen years he’s lived with incredible strength and he didn’t have an answer as to why. But when the world needs a hero and all the answers are laid out in front of him, Steve’s not sure he's strong enough to save everyone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure that wherever Livi may be right now she's silently screaming. (I looked at all my old files for this one and WOW it was four years old. That's crazy).
> 
> If anyone remembers, this was one of the first fics I posted on here. I just hope it shows that I've gotten more confident in my writing. Editing this was actually a lot of fun, I really didn't have to re-write all that much. But just like with any of my chapter fics I don't know when I'll update next. I am REALLY trying to keep up with it though.
> 
> (My plan so far is that this will be seven chapters).
> 
>  
> 
> Come talk to me on  Tumblr 

Thunder rumbles overhead. The rain comes down in sheets. A man enters the dark lobby of the office building, the night guard looking up from the desk. The guard frowns.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closed for the eve--”

The man pulls a gun from his coat and shoots the guard dead. He chuckles, walking around the desk to disable the security system.

“You’ll find,” the man says, voice thick with a German accent. “That my invitation is long overdue.”

 

 

 

“You’re certain tonight’s the night you wish to proceed, doctor?” Nick Fury walks confidently down the dimly lit hall. It was late. The building was cleared of all agents other than the ones who were on call to assist with tonight’s demonstration. “I don’t think I need to elaborate as to why failure is not an option.”

Dr. Abraham Erskine follows behind the Director, continually shuffling about his papers. He was an odd little man with thick rimmed glasses and an even thicker German accent. “He’s the perfect subject, I’m sure of it.”

“You’ve made mistakes before, Dr. Erskine, you’ll excuse me for questioning your--”

They pause in front of the double doors that lead into the labs. Dr. Erskine steps in front of Director Fury, pulling himself to his full height. Fury narrows his eye at the smaller man. Agents shuffle past them, all of them mumbling their respects and salutes to Fury.

“I won’t have you questioning my past mistakes, Director, I know my sins.”

“Then you know the monster you’ve unleashed on the world,” Fury counters.

Dr. Erskine’s frown deepens. He pushes his glasses up, levelling Fury with a stare. “I’m sure of this one, Director, I give you my word.”  
Erskine passes through the doors without another word, Fury close behind him. Lab assistants and agents fill the room. Even agents not assigned to the project have gathered to spectate. The two men part ways as Erskine begins to order his assistants about the proper way to handle the equipment as Fury takes a seat against the far wall to oversee the entire room. A tall, spindly young woman approaches him and speaks in a hushed tone, the Director nodding in response.

“No, no, those go over there--”

“Dr. Erskine, should we turn on the monitors?”

“Yes, turn them on and make sure they warm up, we’ll get started shortly,” Erskine scans the room, turning every which way. “Is he ready? Where is Agent Carter?”

“He was getting fussy so Ms. Carter took him into the prep room. Should we ask her to wake him?”

“No, no, let him sleep. Now where is Mr. Stark? Stark!”

“Right here, Doc, no need to yell.”

A well-groomed man in a white lab coat steps into the room and licks his thumb, swiping it across his lip to straighten his mustache. He winks at one of the assistants who blushes and rolls her eyes. Howard Stark walks forward to shake Erskine’s hand. 

“Apologies, Abe, I know how much you hate to be kept waiting.” He gives Fury a little salute. “Director, looking stiff as ever.”

“Stark.”

“Alright!” Stark claps his hands and rubs them together. “Where’s the little whippersnapper at? Let’s get started! I’d like to get home to my wife before she gets mad at me for coming in late.”

“Not quite yet, I’d like for him to sleep a little longer. I don’t want any unnecessary strain--”

“Doctor,” Fury clears his throat, everyone in the room freezing. “Perhaps we should move things along?”

Erskine nods. “Y-yes, sir.” He takes the center of the room and clears his throat. “Attention, everyone, I’d like to begin.” 

The agents all file into the observation rooms, the assistants taking their places. Howard Stark takes his seat at the controls and gives Erskine a thumbs-up. The room is filled with the hum of machines. Dr. Erskine waits for everyone to take their places, giving one last anxious glance in Fury’s direction.

“I would like to thank everyone who has been involved with this project since I came to the States,” he says, smiling timidly. “To my good acquaintance, Howard Stark, and to SHIELD for allowing us the resources and technology needed to make this a reality. Today we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step on the path of peace--”

“Save us the lengthy speech, Doctor,” Colonel Chester Phillips enters the room, stepping past Erskine and nodding at ease to the agents that salute him. “I'd like to get this over with so I can get home to my wife tonight.”

Colonel Phillips shakes Fury’s hand, taking a seat beside him. 

“Of course.” He nods to one of his assistants, who steps into the preparation room. “I’m sure you’re all eager to meet my test subject.” He clears his throat, walking across the room and picking up his notes. “Over the past many years there have been numerous setbacks in our proceedings. We started out with the hopes of creating the perfect super soldier, but we have been placing all of our hope in men who have already sinned in their lifetimes. There is no way to predict how the serum will adapt.”  
The assistant steps out of the prep room and gives Erskine a nod.

“My theory,” Erskine continues, beginning to pace, “is that if we start— _younger_ —than the serum will adapt to the subject as they grow. I have made the necessary adjustments to the serum as well as my theorems, carefully mapped the milestones that will need to be reached depending on how well the subject adapts--”

“If I’m not mistaken, Doctor,” Phillips interrupts. “We’re here to create a super soldier. Not philosophizing over the nature of man’s soul.”

“To be frank, Colonel, that is the basis of my research,” Erskine says sharply.

“How much younger?” Fury asks.

Erskine swallows.

“Sir?”

“You said your research has led you to a younger subject,” Fury repeats. “How much younger?”

“I understand that there are to be discrepancies with any changes I have made--”

“You’re avoiding my question, Dr. Erskine.”

Fury regards him with a cold stare. Erskine glances at his assistants who seem to have taken a few steps back. He holds out his notes for one of them to take, another approaching with his lab coat.

“Perhaps…it would be best,” Erskine sighs, shrugging the coat on, “if you met my newest subject.” He motions towards the preparation room. “Agent Carter, if you would?”

A woman in her early-thirties with permed brown hair and steely eyes steps out of the room. She coos at the small body in her arms—a baby—who wasn’t responding the way most infants would at his size. He was looking up at her with interest but could barely lift his arms to reach for her face and hair. There was no babbling or mimicking from the baby either…just the small, shuddering wheezes from each breath he took. She smiles fondly at him and passes him gently to Erskine who takes care to mind his head. The infant makes a small noise and waves one of his arms weakly. He grabs one of Erskine’s fingers and smiles, wheezing out a cough. Erskine rubs his chest and frowns as the baby continues to cough.

“He sounds to be having a bit of trouble,” Erskine directs her towards his equipment. “If you could set him down in the device and help steady his breathing? I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.” He hands the baby back to her and turns his attention back towards the Director and Colonel. “Now…if we are ready to proceed--”

The observing agents murmur amongst one another.

“Wait a damn minute,” Phillips growls, pushing himself up. “I signed on to this program because I was promised a new breed of super soldier not a super…infant!”

“Please, Colonel, sit down and allow me to explain.”

“Are you telling me I have to wait eighteen years for that kid to sprout?”

“Not necessarily,” Erskine argues, growing frustrated. “This is all only to prove that my serum will work! If you would just--”

Dr. Erskine falls silent. Director Fury stands, approaching the machine. Agent Carter coos softly at the baby, placing a small tube in his nose and turning on the machine to her right, his wheezing beginning to slow down. Fury looks over the baby again with a frown. He sighs, stepping away from the machine. “Erskine…where did you even get this child?”

Erskine takes his glasses off and cleans them, pushing them back up his nose. “He was abandoned, orphaned. The boy was spending his days in a tiny incubator and I pitied him. I thought that—if the serum did nothing more than heal him of his ailments then I would be happy. And—he is young. He has not yet been impressed upon due to the nature of his illness and circumstances.” He pauses, watching Fury anxiously. “It _will_ work, Director.”

Fury sighs deeply and rubs his eye. “How old is he?”

“Eighteen months.” Fury raises his brow when Peggy answers first, observing the way she leans over the machine to soothe the baby as he squirms about.

“I do hope we aren’t too attached to the child, Agent Carter. You seem fond of him. I would hate to have you compromised should something go wrong.”

“It won’t,” Peggy hums. She runs a hand over the wisp of blonde hair on his head. He wheezes a bit, grabbing her hand. “Steve’s stronger than he looks.”

Fury scowls. “You’ve named him.”

“Dr. Erskine named him,” she says tartly. “I’ve simply been doing as you told me to, Nick. You told me to assist the doctor in any way possible and he asked me to look after the baby.”

“Agent Carter has proven very helpful in keeping him as comfortable as possible,” Erskine flips on one of the switches to the machine and it starts to hum. “And I am sure Peggy’s concern for the child is purely human nature. Now, whenever Mr. Stark--”

Stark flips a couple switches on the wall to dim the lights, smirking. “Ready when you are, Doc.” He takes a seat at one of the control panels. 

“Very good. Director, Colonel,” Erskine motions towards their seats. “If you would.”

The assistants start handing out pairs of goggles. “If you’ll all put these on—sorry, Nick, but I couldn’t get a pair specially made so I just popped out one of the lenses for you.”

“Hilarious.”

Erskine takes Peggy’s arm gently to guide her away from the baby and towards one of the observation rooms. “He will be fine, Peggy, the procedure should not hurt him.” She follows Fury, Phillips, and the other agents behind the safety glass, taking a seat. Erskine takes his place by the machine, the assistants placing various electrodes on the infant’s chest and stomach. He fusses at them and starts to whine. One of the assistants reaches for the tube in his nose and the doctor catches her hand. “No, no…keep his air in. I don’t want him to go into shock. Have you recorded his height and weight? His heart rate?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Good, good…I’ll need the vaccine then,” Dr. Erskine orders. He runs a hand through the thinning hair on his head. One of the assistants hands him the needle and he thanks her. He leans over to take the baby’s arm but he whines and pulls away from him. “Hold his arm steady for me.” The baby starts to let out raspy little cries as Erskine gives him the vaccine. Erskine hands the needle to one of the assistants and sighs. “Steady him, we can’t have him squirming about during the procedure—Stark, has the machine warmed up?”

“Ready when you are, Abe.”

The assistants coo at the baby and rub his stomach, his crying eventually faltering and replaced by his tiny, wheezing breaths. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Erskine smiles at the lot of them. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “We’re ready to proceed.” He looks down at the baby who smiles up at him, lifting one of his arms. He smiles fondly at him and steps away, worry settling between his brow. 

“Shut it.” The baby makes a small noise as they close the lid to the machine and switch on the monitors, making sure the latches are secure. Erskine pulls on his goggles and everyone else in the room does the same, stepping away from the machine and towards their positions to man the switches on the walls. “Mr. Stark—turn it on.”

“Hold onto your hats.”

Stark flips the main switch and the room is plunged into darkness, the only sound the heavy whirring of the machine as it begins to warm up. The monitor reading the baby’s heart begins to speed up. Stark motions to the assistants to flip their switches and the machine lets out a low whine, a white light shining blindly from the device. As Stark steadily increases the power the baby starts to wail. The monitor shows his heart rate speeding up even further. Erskine motions for the assistants to stay where they are and Stark gives the signal that they’ve reached maximum power. The baby continues to sob.

“Doctor! The infant’s heart can’t take much more--”

“Keep it steady!” Erskine orders. “Don’t shut it off, only a few moments longer!”

The white light fills the room. Some of the assistants begin to shield their eyes. The infant’s crying stops. The monitor flat lines and the assistants look around frantically, unsure as to what to do. Erskine furrows his brow and looks to Stark.

“Mr. Stark--”

Fury steps out of the observation room to yell. “For God’s sakes, Erskine, shut it off!”

“That’s enough, Howard!” 

Stark turns his head, looks at the monitors and clarity dawns on him. He cuts off the power and the machine lets out a few sparks. Some of the assistants yell when the panels on the wall spark out as well. The room goes black. One by one the lights blink back on and Erskine tears off his goggles, running up to the machine. 

“Open it up! Hurry, hurry, open it!” 

The switches let out a hiss as the machine opens. Stark takes off his goggles and stands, craning his neck to see. The entire room stays deadly silent. No one moves. Erskine takes off his glasses, folding them into his coat pocket. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Shut off the monitors…”

“But—doctor--”

A small noise breaks the silence. The baby lets out a small cough and starts to cry, his heart rate reappearing on the screen. Erskine lets out a relieved sigh, the rest of the room starting to applaud. Stark sits back down in his chair and starts to laugh. “He’s not wheezing!” Erskine exclaims. “He’s not wheezing—quick! What’s his weight?”

“It is…25.2 pounds. He’s average.”

“Average! He’s average, it worked! Quickly, shut off the oxygen and get those electrodes off! Check his breathing, check his—check everything! He’s average, it worked!”

The room continues to applaud, many of the assistants shaking the doctor’s hand. Stark runs up to Erskine laughing and hugs him. Peggy waves off the assistants to scoop the baby up from the machine and coddle him, smiling when he raises both his arms to reach for her. One of the assistants hands her a bottle and she places it to his mouth. He grabs it with both hands and holds it steady on his own.

“Look at him!” Erskine laughs, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “He’s already adapting to the serum—someone write this down! Somebody, please, get me my notebook--”

“Dr. Erskine.” Everyone quiets down when Fury approaches the doctor. He holds out a hand for him to shake and gives him the closest thing to a smile that Fury could manage. “Congratulations. On behalf of SHIELD—and myself—we look forward to seeing how the experiment moves on from here.”

A single round of applause rises above the chatter of the room. Several agents pull their guns. A man steps through the crowd. He’s dressed smartly in a military uniform, hair slicked back, and arms folding primly behind his back when he finishes applauding. He would have been a rather handsome man if it had not been for the odd texture of his skin. It resembled the sheen of plastic and wrinkled in odd ways where the contours of his face would fall—almost as if he were wearing a mask. He steps further into the room, the assistants stepping out of his way as he strides, smiling coyly at the lot of them. Both Erskine and Fury frown, Fury narrowing his eye. Peggy holds the baby closer to her and steps behind Fury.

“General Schmidt,” Fury greets the man stiffly, pushing aside his coat to reveal the gun in his holster. “I’d say I’m surprised to see you, but…quite frankly I’m not. Though I am surprised you got past security.”

“Oh, Director,” Schmidt walks freely through the room, his smile widening. “You and I both know that even the impossible can be reached if one simply puts their mind to it.” 

“Nazi bastard,” Phillips growls, weapon raised.

“I do believe your government prefers the term ‘white supremacist’ these days, Colonel.” He turns to Dr. Erskine who looks least pleased to see him. “Herr doctor…so good to see you again. I do hope I am not interrupting, but when I heard you were attempting to create another super soldier I could not refuse the invitation to observe.”

“You should not have come, Johann,” Erskine says. The female agent beside Fury places a hand on her gun. “The test is already complete. And it will be years before the subject shows any true signs of improvement.”

“How very cryptic, Doctor. Tell me—where is this new subject of yours? For a super soldier he does very well blending into crowds.”

“I told you, Johann, my tests were much different this time.”

The baby squeals and Peggy shushes him, bouncing him lightly in her arms. Schmidt quirks a brow and looks around the room. His eyes settle on Peggy and the baby, making the connection in his mind. He lets out a laugh, several of the assistants jumping. “Oh, Doctor, surely this must be a jest,” he laughs. “The fate of the new world…rests in the hands of an infant?”

Erskine frowns. “The fate of the new world rests in the hands of the man this child will become.”

“Do you all not feel foolish? Resting the fate of your organization in the hands of a premature bastard--”

“Steve,” Peggy snarls, holding him closer to her. The general turns to her and her scowl deepens. “His name is Steve.”

Schmidt grins at her and chuckles. He approaches her slowly, Fury stepping aside as Schmidt walks up to her, Phillips keeping his aim. Peggy narrows her eyes and steps back. Steve fusses against where she has him pressed to her shoulder. “May I?” He holds out his arms for the baby, Peggy looking to Erskine. The doctor gives her a small nod. She reluctantly hands Steve over to him and the general smiles. “Steve…short for Steven, yes? Derived from the Greek name Stephanos. It means crown, honor, and victorious. It is a name given to those of great power…your touch, I’m assuming, Erskine?”

“Yes,” Erskine says.

“If you came here to stop us it’s too late,” Peggy sneers, holding her head high. “Dr. Erskine’s proven that his serum works. This boy will give people hope again. Hope that they can stand up to people like you.”

“Why? Because Herr doctor cured him? Helped him to breathe? Hope is nothing more than a washed-up idea created by the common man,” Schmidt chuckles. He looks her over, raising a brow. “Carter, was it? You were the one who valiantly rescued our good doctor from Germany, weren’t you?”

She gives him a curt nod.

“Tell me,” he says, pacing around the room. “Did Erskine ever tell you what the serum did to me? What I became?”

Peggy snorts. “The serum only enhances what is already there. You were a monster before you were even injected.”

Schmidt’s eyes grow dark. “Enhances. Yes.” Steve fusses in Schmidt’s arms. He looks down at him, his scowl deepening. “And what was the serum to do to the boy, Doctor? Hmm? Similar results, I’m assuming?”

“There was no way to predict what effects--”

“But I’m sure you have a theory?” Schmidt smiles bitterly, Erskine frowning. “Come now, Doctor, I’m sure we’d all like to hear.”

“I…had hoped,” Erskine says, wringing his hands. “That the serum would cure him of all ailments. Most notably his asthma, heart palpitations, and blood pressure.” His eyes rest on Steve. The baby is moving his arms and legs in a way that seems almost methodical. As if he’s fascinated that they suddenly work. “His weight has already doubled and he is capable of moving all of his limbs, a development I did not expect so soon. In years’ time we will be able to tell if his immunity has heightened and if his intellect is developing at exponential rates. And—in theory—he will develop superhuman strength, agility, and stamina.”

“And what about regeneration?”

“He—in theory—he will be capable of regenerative healing, yes.” 

Schmidt hums and nods, walking about the room casually with Steve babbling in his arms. He pulls a switch blade from his belt. Peggy and the agent beside Fury both whip their guns out of their holsters, both them and Phillips cocking their weapons. The other agents are quick to follow, Fury holding up his hand. “Should we test your theory, doctor?” Schmidt chuckles, flashing them a grin. He holds the blade just above the infant’s stomach. “How well do you trust your reflexes, Agent Carter? Either of you shoot me and the boy could become seriously injured.”

“Alright,” Fury steps between his agents and Schmidt, motioning to both women. They lower their weapons only slightly. “Let’s just all calm down…there’s no need to harm the boy, General, he’s incapable of even defending himself. Just—put the knife away and hand him back to Dr. Erskine.”

Erskine steps forward, his arms outstretched for the baby. “Johann, please--”

“NEIN! DO NOT CALL ME BY THAT NAME!” Schmidt yells, pricking the infant’s stomach with the blade. A drop of blood runs down the swell of his belly as Steve begins to wail. “I am no longer Johann Schmidt, Erskine, I have not been since you gave me that damned serum! Since you turned me into the monster that I am!” He looks down at the baby in his arms and laughs. “But it would seem you’ve failed again, Doctor. A cut this small surely should have healed by now. Should we test how deep the wound can go?” Schmidt chuckles and holds the blade just above Steve’s stomach who’s still sobbing. A shot’s fired—several of the lab assistants screaming and falling to the floor—and Schmidt lets out a pained yell as the knife he was holding is shot out of his hand.

Howard Stark lets out a breath and lowers his gun with a sigh. “Damn, I’m a better shot than I thought.”

Peggy wrenches Steve from Schmidt’s grip and holds him against her, cooing softly to soothe him. Schmidt snarls and glares daggers at Stark. He lets out a dry laugh. “No matter…I came to witness your failures and it would seem I was not disappointed.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Peggy turns Steve just slightly so that his stomach is visible. The cut Schmidt had made was already healed over as if it had never happened, the small amount of blood already starting to dry. “It would seem the only one who has failed is you.”

He snarls and pulls a military rifle from his pocket, aiming at her and the baby. “Good girls should know when to hold their tongues--” 

A gun cocks behind him, Fury poking his own .22 into Schmidt’s back. He narrows his eye. “I believe it’s time for you to leave, _Herr general_.”

Schmidt laughs darkly, grinning. “Very well, Director, I shall go.” He pockets his gun and steps carefully away from Fury. Schmidt walks slowly through the crowd, arms partially raised. “But how long will your fantasies last? How long will you place your hopes in an organization that can no longer protect the world from itself? There is no justice in a world full of imperfections. I seek to cleanse it.”

“You seek to control it.” Schmidt frowns. “Hope is something mankind has clung to since the beginning of time and it’s a concept that SHIELD will always stand behind. This boy may or may not be our reckoning to free the new world from itself but it’s worth a shot.” 

“The people still believe in heroes, Johann,” Erskine adds, resting a hand on Steve’s head. “And so do I.”

Schmidt cackles wickedly. He sees himself to the double doors, pushing them open with a wicked smile. His eyes flicker to the infant in Agent Carter’s arms. “We shall see, Herr doctor, we shall see…”

He disappears into the hall with a whip of his coat and a fading laugh.

Phillips turns to Fury with a scowl. “The hell are you doing? We need to shut down every airfield on the East Coast! That Nazi fuck isn’t getting out of the country!”

“He’ll already be gone by the time the order is carried out.”

The colonel snorts angrily, holstering his weapon and turning to Dr. Erskine. “I’d like an update on where the project goes from here.” He pointedly glares at the baby in Peggy’s arms. “I hope this isn’t a final product.” Colonel Phillips gives Fury a bitter salute before stalking towards the doors. He pulls out a radio, shouting into it as he goes. “I need every available man to shut down all airfields within a 20 mile radius…”

Erskine turns to address his staff with an anxious smile. “Apologies, everyone, it’s alright now. Let’s get everything shut down and we can all go home.”

“Sir?” The young agent beside Fury speaks up, pinching her brow. “Are we really going to just let him leave?”

Fury grimaces after General Schmidt. “Unfortunately, Maria, there’s nothing we can accuse the general of just yet.” He meets Dr. Erskine’s eye, Erskine exchanging a nervous glance, his eyes resting on the baby fussing in Peggy Carter’s arms. “But I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.”

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

“ _Nein nein nein nein nein_!” A short stoutly man screams, banging his fists on the table that a group of researchers were arguing around. He swipes his arms across the surface in a rage and tosses numerous blueprints and prototypes to the floor. “This is not what Herr general wants! We have years of planning ahead these designs must be _PERFECTION_!”

“But, Doctor, the designs Herr general is looking for simply cannot be done--”

“No excuses!”

“But--”

“NEIN! Find a way! Or I’ll make sure Herr general blacklists all of you idiots _personally_ \--”

“Zola.”

The little man spins around in a rage, furious that someone would address him in such a casual manner. “WHAT?!” His face falls slightly.

A large, muscular man was looming over him, the rest of the people in the room already pretending to busy themselves with other things. The man scowls at the little doctor who was barely tall enough to reach his waist.

“Rumlow…” the smaller man regains his composure. “What is it you want? I’m busy dealing with these _dummkopf_ \--”

“General Schmidt is back.”

Zola hums and nods, pretending to look over some of the blueprints he’d thrown to the floor. “Good, good, he had a good flight--?”

“He wants to see you.”

“Oh, well,” Zola swallows around the lump in his throat. “Then please inform Herr general that I shall be there once my meeting has concluded--”

“ _Now_.”

Rumlow turns on his heels and stalks back towards the elevator. Zola’s face pales. He quickly scoops up the blueprints and tosses them back onto the table, shooting a look at the researchers for staring. They salute him as he makes his departure. The doctor shuffles quickly towards the elevator. He barely makes it in before the doors close behind them. They ride in silence, Rumlow breathing quietly while Zola fidgets and mumbles to himself. The general was never in a good mood when he sent Rumlow to find Zola.

The elevator ride did not last as long as Zola wanted. He could hear the general throwing a tantrum before the doors even opened. Papers are scattered across the floor. General Schmidt is screaming in German and shoving items off his desk, his assistant stoically watching on from her own. Rumlow steps into the room, Zola careful to keep behind him. He clears his throat and the general spins around in a fury. Schmidt seems to relax at the sight of the man, taking a deep breath and running a hand over his hair. The skin on his face pulls taut with the motion.

“Ah, Rumlow,” Schmidt sighs. The screaming has stopped but visibly the general’s shoulders are still trembling with rage. He walks over to the bar to pour himself a drink. “Did you find Zola, then?”

“J-jah, Herr general, I am here,” Zola speaks up, stepping out from behind his human shield. Schmidt hesitates, raising the glass to his lips. He takes the drink and sets it back down on the counter. “You—wanted to see me? How did it go with SHIELD?”

Schmidt lets out an angry roar and throws his glass at the wall. Zola jumps.

“Things did not go well then? Wh-what about the Cube? Were the results conclusive for that?”

“Nein…” He pours himself another drink and sits down at his desk, rubbing his eyes. “It would seem…that Dr. Erskine has successfully created a new super soldier serum. He has used it on an infant.” Schmidt takes a sip and lets out a long sigh.

“An—an infant, sir?” Zola furrows his brow. “Surely you are not concerned with this.”

“It will depend upon how well the boy’s body adapts to the serum. The results shown were…troubling.” He swirls the glass in his hand, fixated by the amber liquid as it moves around. “I’ve come too far to place any anxieties of failure into the fate of a mere child.”

“A-and the Cube, sir?”

“Another dead end.” Schmidt sets down his glass and stares bitterly at his desk. “We are not interpreting the maps and books the way they are meant to be interpreted.”

Zola chuckles hesitantly. “Well, it is all written in Old Norse, Herr general…some of the runes’ translations have been lost for thousands of years--”

“EXCUSES!” Schmidt yells, banging his fist on the desk. “Find someone skilled in Old Norse then! Bribe them, blackmail them, take them prisoner, drag them in by the roots of their hair—I DON’T CARE! Find me someone who can _READ THEM_!” Zola squeaks out an apology and nods. “Now…tell me how the weapon development is coming along. How behind are we?”

“Ahh—it will be—another few years still before any true results are reached--”

Schmidt waves Zola off with the flick of his hand, finishing off his drink. “No matter. It will be difficult for them to base their designs off a weapon we have yet to obtain. Anything else to report, Zola?”

“N-nein, sir,” Zola forces a weak smile. “Just that HYDRA is happy to have you home.”

“Very good.” Schmidt turns in his chair to look out the window behind his desk, Zola letting out a relieved sigh and making his way back towards the elevator. “Oh, and Zola? Get me a file on Howard Stark. His involvement in Erskine’s experiments is proving to be a nuisance.”

“Yes, Herr general.”

“And let me know the instant The Watcher arrives.” Zola’s finger pauses before hitting the button for the elevator. He makes a disgruntled noise and covers it up with a cough. Schmidt turns in his chair to glare at the little man, drumming his fingers on the desk. “What is it, Doctor?”

Zola clears his throat and forces out a small laugh. “Well—you see—The Watcher has—well, he’s already here--”

“ _WHAT_?!” Schmidt leaps to his feet and smashes his glass on the floor. Zola fidgets his hands nervously together. “The Watcher is _HERE_ and you didn’t _TELL ME_?!”

“I-I-I sent him to your private office, Herr general--”

Schmidt sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. Zola distances himself as far as he can from the general, his back pressing into the elevator doors. The general approaches his assistant’s desk and gives her a little nod. She presses a hidden button just under her workspace and the wall hisses as it slides to reveal a hidden hallway. 

“I will deal with you later.” Schmidt waves a hand to Rumlow and the doctor whose face had paled. “You’re both excused. Now get out.”

Rumlow salutes the general and Zola quickly copies him to do the same. Schmidt salutes them in response and watches the men step into the elevator. He sighs and grumbles to himself, slicking his hair back in place. Schmidt steps into the hallway and the wall hisses as it closes behind him.

Relatively speaking, the man waiting in Johann Schmidt’s hidden office was not a man at all. He was a humanoid being, much larger than any mortal man of Earth. He had grown bored of meditation and seemed somewhat fascinated by the large pool in the middle of the room that gave off an eerie orange glow. What looked as though they were once human beings were swirling and moaning in anguish, their arms reaching up towards the surface of the pool. He watches the figures move through the viscous liquid with glazed eyes.

“There are legends that tell of six stones that hold all the power of the universe,” Schmidt hums, closing the door behind him. “One of my more personal obsessions, I must admit. You know even the most outrageous myths are based on some kind of truth. Magic is simply a science mankind has yet to understand and because of that it is regarded as a—heh— _dark_ art.” Schmidt takes a seat at his desk and slouches slightly in his chair. The other man’s face continues to show no signs of interest or emotion, turning from Schmidt to look into the portal once more. “May I get you anything? A drink, something to eat, a—chair, perhaps?”

“No. I am compatible with the room.”

“You wouldn’t prefer to be seated?”

“I am sitting.”

Schmidt glances at the man’s posture. He was technically sitting, yes, his legs were crisscrossed in a seated position. “You would not prefer to be seated in a chair?”

“Does my levitation bother you, General Schmidt?”

“No, no, whatever’s comfortable for you.” Schmidt pours himself a drink and leans forward to rest his arms on his desk. “I must apologize for being late to our meeting. You see I was--”

The other man hums. “I knew you would be late.”

“Yes. You’re able to foresee everything. I know.” Schmidt sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “I needed to see Erskine’s experiments for myself since there’s been talk of SHIELD being on the verge of a breakthrough--”

“I know.”

His mouth twitches. “Well…much to my surprise Erskine’s newest addition is an infant. Already he is showing signs of adapting to the serum. And I thought--”

“You thought you’d council with me for my insight, General Schmidt, I know--”

“I KNOW!” The glass in Schmidt’s hand shatters from the tightness of his grip. Schmidt takes a deep breath and sighs, clearing his throat. “I know…that you know, Uatu, I get the idea.” He stands to grab a towel from the bar, wiping off his hand and uniform.

Uatu watches him with some interest, cocking his head to the side. “Allow me your hand.” The man reaches out, the general not really questioning the request. “You think poorly of the serum and yet the cuts in your hand have already healed. Would this new creation, theoretically speaking, be of equal strength and vigor?”

“That is why I have summoned you, Uatu. Only you would know the answer.”

The Watcher turns away and hums knowingly. Schmidt looks over his own hand. The shards had made visible cuts but Uatu was correct—they’d already healed over and were starting to fade. Anything deeper would take more than a few moments to do the same. And fatal wounds healed over a 24 hour period. Perhaps one of the more agreeable effects of the serum. However…if an infant were to heal a small wound as quickly as Schmidt…would his powers only grow with him?

“My plans will take time—many years at the most—but I cannot have anyone thwart them, Uatu. I must know if the child will be a threat to me.”

“You ask questions to which you already have the answers.”

“If I _had_ the answers you would not be here,” Schmidt snarls.

“Tell me, General Schmidt—do you fear death?” Schmidt’s face falls. Uatu turns to him when he doesn’t answer and quirks a brow. Schmidt furrows his. Uatu glances at the portal, the souls inside still wailing. “Is that not why you keep death so close to you? So it does not catch you off guard?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because you are fearful of a child. I see it in your eyes, General Schmidt, and I know all. You fear this child because you know what he will become.”

“I fear the potential threat he may serve, yes. If you were in my position would you not feel the same?”

“War is petty. It serves no use to me.”

“I seek to change the world for the better of mankind.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Uatu—only you can tell me if he is truly a threat to my cause. Is there a way to prevent him from destroying my plans?”

Uatu shakes his head and looks away. “It is dangerous to reveal the future.”

“I am a mortal man!” Schmidt snaps, growling in his throat. “You speak so freely of death because you have a choice of whether or not it will take you—I do not have such a luxury. Before I die I must cleanse this world of everything imperfect and unholy to create a base for a new empire. One that is based upon order and perfection—if it is to live and thrive I must live to lead it, to build it, to control it. You ask if I fear death, then yes. I fear a death which will rip me away from the empire I solely deserve! I wish to purge this world of the filth SHIELD has allowed to run rampant for too long. You see everything, Uatu, everything that has, does, and will exist. How do you find solace in watching a world so twisted upon itself and being able to do nothing?”

“It is not my place to interfere with the lives of mortals.”

“And yet, here we are,” Schmidt smirks, taking a seat and crossing his legs.

“The path you seek is destructive.”

“Is war not a pathway to peace? Is death not a gateway to life?” Schmidt smiles coyly and shrugs. “You watch the people of Earth choose to ruin their lives every day—I simply wish to improve them.”

The lights go out. Uatu levitates towards the middle of the room. He twists his hands together to create a small ball of light, the ball growing as Uatu moves his hands around it, eventually pulling and throwing out his arms. The light expands to create a translucent mirror like substance. With a whirl of colors and shapes, clearer images begin to appear upon the surface of the mirror. Schmidt leans forward in his seat and furrows his brow as Uatu begins to narrate what was being shown.

“The future you seek is far from your grasp,” Uatu says, his voice disembodied and ethereal, echoing around the room. “There is another who seeks the balance you speak of. The Titan. Imprisoned to the dark reaches of the universe long ago. In twenty years’ time, the planets of this system will align, and with the six stones at hand you shall open the portal to release the Titan and his armies. A powerful ally, but one that cannot be trusted. Should you claim control of the stones and bring the Titan to his knees, his armies will be yours to command. You will bring the balance you seek not only to your world, but the universe itself.”

Schmidt hums, watching the visions as Uatu presents them. “Then I will find the Infinity Stones? I only need defeat this Titan--”

“There is the matter of the boy…” Schmidt frowns. “In these twenty years he will only grow and his body will become stronger every day. With training he will become a mighty hero, one that fights for the people. His heart will be pure and his body resilient. Be cautious, General Schmidt, for the boy known as Steve Rogers shall become the greatest hero this world has ever seen. If he should resist your new world order, if he should fight, your plans will fail…and you will die.”

With a flick of the lights The Watcher is gone, a soft chuckle left in his wake. Schmidt lets out a frustrated yell. He throws his desk against the wall and pants, collapsing into his chair. “Dammit,” he snarls, closing his eyes. “Damn Erskine and his serum…”

The door opens and Schmidt looks up, his assistant standing in the doorway. He sighs and rubs his temple. “Did things not go well?” she asks, looking around the room.

“You could say that.”

Schmidt stands and paces around the room, crossing his wrists behind his back. He mutters and curses to himself in German. His assistant watches him from the doorway. Schmidt sighs and walks towards the orange pool, the souls all continuing to moan and reach towards the surface in agony. Souls of his enemies. He furrows his brow. Uatu claimed that he would find the six Infinity Stones. The second was nearly in his grasp. No one else knew what he sought. Fury and his SHIELD had no reason to suspect. Where could it possible go wrong? 

“If…”

“Sir?”

He blinks and looks up at his assistant. “What?”

“You said ‘if.’”

“Hmmm…” Schmidt looks back down at the pool. “Uatu—The Watcher said ‘if.’ Tell me, Angeline, what does ‘if’ mean?”

“It’s a conjunction used to introduce an additional clause. ‘If’ presents a condition.”

“Yes…a condition…” Schmidt places a hand over his mouth and narrows his eyes. “How quickly could you arrange a flight to the Americas?”

“I could have your plane ready in twenty minutes if I called down to the hangar now.”

He nods. “Very good. Find me Zola and Rumlow and send them to my office— _immediately_.”

 

 

 

The elevator doors open to a dark room. Rumlow steps out, Zola mumbling nervously to himself. The elevator closes behind them. The entire office was dark. Both men approach Schmidt’s desk, his chair turned away from them. He was staring out the window, watching the new snow fall on the mountains. Zola clears his throat. Schmidt gives him no response.

“Uhh—sir? You wanted to see us?”

Schmidt lets out a small sigh. He swivels slightly in his seat to pick his glass up from the desk, swirling his drink in his hand. “Zola.” The smaller man makes a noise. “Rumlow.” The taller man grunts. “When a male lion wishes to take over another’s pride—do you know what it does? To the cubs?”

Zola looks to Rumlow who remains staring straight ahead, his arms folded behind his back. The doctor furrows his brow. “S-sir?”

“The male lion, Zola, if there are cubs in the pride it wishes to control, what does it do with them?”

“It kills them,” Rumlow answers, his stance not hesitating in the slightest.

“Very good.” Schmidt takes a sip of his drink and lets out another sigh. Zola shifts uncomfortably by Rumlow’s side. The only audible sound was of Zola’s feet fidgeting against the carpet. “Where’s the file I asked for?” Zola’s fidgeting stops. “The file on Stark— _where is it_?”

The doctor quickly approaches his desk and holds it out. “R-right here, sir!”

Schmidt takes the file from him. Zola steps back to stand beside Rumlow once more. Schmidt takes his time flipping through the pages and humming softly. “So…he’s married?”

“His wife, Maria, and son, Anthony,” Rumlow responds. “Both live with him in New York. Howard is the founder and CEO of an up and coming corporation known as Stark Industries. His wife, Maria, is a homemaker and watches after their son, Anthony, who’s twelve years old. He’s also the only heir to Stark Industries.”

“Good.” Schmidt closes the file. “HYDRA has no room for failure, gentlemen. Nothing can stand in our way.” He turns to top off his drink, Zola’s face falling. Rumlow’s eyes widen just slightly.

The pale, rubbery skin that had once covered his face and neck was gone. Its absence revealed a leathery flesh that was spread thin over the bone underneath. His eyes now looked as though they were sinking into his face. And there was no nose, there had never been a nose, simply a cosmetic piece of plastic; the lips were also gone, his flesh simply running to his gums and teeth. What was worse was that the pigment of the skin no longer resembled flesh but was rather a deep shade of red.

“S-sir, you—you took off your—y-your face--”

“Why should I hide who I am?” Schmidt snarls. “In twenty years the world will know my face—and I want them to remember it. Our focus as of today is to make our presence known. We’ll find the Cube, we’ll build our numbers, and we’ll eliminate anyone in our way.” He finishes off his drink. “Rumlow--” Schmidt holds up Stark’s file, “--you know what to do.”

Rumlow nods and takes the file, saluting him.

Zola furrows his brow. “Sir—excuse me for asking—but…why Stark--?”

“Zola.” Schmidt places a hand over his mouth and looks over the smaller man, narrowing his eyes. “Your assignment is of the most importance…”

“Y-yes, sir! Anything to aid HYDRA.”

Schmidt turns his chair to face the window with a scowl. He laces his fingers together and places them against his lips, furrowing his brow in concentration. “You’ll be going to D.C. to infiltrate SHIELD. Fury will want the child to stay under his eye in order to observe his progress and Erskine’s in no position to refuse. SHIELD will keep him under some surveillance, but obtaining him should not be difficult.”

“You believe him to be that much of a threat, sir? It will be years before--”

“It will be years before our plan for world domination will be complete!” Schmidt yells, cracking the window with his fist. “We cannot risk any room for error, Zola, this boy cannot mature with the serum running through his veins. He will become too powerful. Taking care of him now is our best option.”

“But, sir…won’t SHIELD expect us to--”

“No. Fury will not suspect me to think the boy a threat and Erskine is too naïve to believe me to lash out against the child. No one will expect an attack to be made.” He leans back in his chair. “Now go. Time is of the essence.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zola and Rumlow both click their heels together and salute. “Hail HYDRA.” They dismiss themselves and walk towards the elevator, Rumlow pressing the button for it to return.

“And Zola?” The doctor turns as he steps into the elevator. “When you collect the boy—kill him.”

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

Steve squeals and babbles, grabbing Dr. Erskine’s glasses and waving them around in his fist. He takes a deep breath and lets out a shrill squeal, laughing at his own mischief. Erskine sighs but can’t help a smile. The doctor had been attempting to take Steve’s heartbeat for ten minutes now but apparently the thrill of his newfound strength and ability to breathe was exciting the child beyond exhaustion. It had been two weeks since the injection of the serum and already the baby was showing impressive—even hopeful—signs of improvement. He was babbling in response to the nurses and doctors and had full mobility of his limbs. He was capable of crawling—though he still showed favor towards being carried—and in the past few days had started sitting up on his own. There were no signs of lingering asthma or heart murmurs, he showed no discomfort breathing and his chest no longer caused him pain, and the curve in his spine had straightened. Of course he was still a few months behind in development but Dr. Erskine was sure that gap would be filled in no time.

“Steven, no,” Erskine takes his glasses back, Steve continuing to reach for them. “Those are mine.” He starts to whimper and his babbling turns into fussing. The nurse chuckles and holds her arms out, Erskine gladly handing him back. He pulls a handkerchief out of his jacket to clean off his lenses. “You don’t mind watching him for the night? He doesn’t fuss, does he?”

“Oh, no, he’s an angel.” The nurse places Steve in his crib. “Should I monitor his heart for murmurs again tonight, Doctor?”

Erskine pushes his glasses back up his nose and chuckles. “No, I think he’ll enjoy not having electrodes on his chest for a night. Just give him his bottle and don’t forget to feed him again in about two hours. I want to keep his weight up. His body hasn’t adjusted to burning all of these calories quite yet.”

“Yes, Doctor.” The nurse takes a bottle out of the microwave and holds it out towards Steve who grabs the bottle with gusto. He gurgles, suckling down the formula as fast as he can. The nurse laughs and strokes his hair. “He’s a funny little thing…” She runs a thumb over the plastic band on his wrist. “Steven Grant…did you name him, Dr. Erskine? You said you found him in an orphanage.”

“Grant was the name of the pastor who ran the facility he was in.” Erskine hums taking down a few notes. “Steven was my personal touch.”

“It suits him. I think he likes it too…he responds well to the name.”

“He didn’t have a name before.”

The nurse picks Steve up and pats his back. “Well he does now.” Steve lets out a huge yawn, his hands clutching at her scrubs and face burying into her shoulder. “Oh, sure, you’re tired after you’ve eaten. You couldn’t be tired an hour ago.” She chuckles and lays him back down in the crib, draping a blanket over his swelled belly. His stomach rises and falls slowly. Steve lets out another yawn and stretches his arms out above his head.

“Is he already asleep?” Agent Carter pokes her head into the nursery, Dr. Erskine looking up from his notes. The nurse frowns. “Should I station outside the door again?”

“No, no, no, no, no,” the nurse shoos her out the door, shaking her hands. “I don’t need you in here again tonight, I am perfectly capable of watching over the baby.” 

Peggy pouts. “I can’t even say goodnight?”

“No, no, no! Absolutely not! You kept him up all night the last time you were here and it left him fussy all day during his tests. Now off with you!”

“I would never--” The nurse cocks her brow and Peggy laughs. “Alright, I shouldn’t have played with him the other night…but he kept fussing when I left the room!”

“You shouldn’t have been in the room in the first place!”

Dr. Erskine sighs, smiling. “Now, now, Agent Carter, you know I can’t have him dozing off during his tests, he needs his sleep. I…think my nurses are all capable of watching him at least one night on their own. You should go home, get some sleep for yourself.”

Peggy frowns, furrowing her brow. “Abe— _Doctor_ —if something _were_ to happen…wouldn’t it be better if I were right outside?”

“Like I said,” the nurse lifts her scrubs just slightly to reveal a small pistol tucked into her waistband, “I am perfectly capable of watching over the baby. Besides…Dr. Erskine’s right, Agent Carter. You look as though you haven’t slept in a few days.”

She hesitates at the door, looking to Erskine who gives her a nod and motions for her to leave. Peggy sighs. “Fine, I’ll go. Just for tonight though.”

“You’re too paranoid, Peggy,” Erskine chuckles. He collects his notes and turns off the small lamp in the corner. Both he and the women exit the room, Erskine pulling the door shut behind them. “But I suppose that’s what makes you the best, is it not?”

 

 

 

“He won’t need his bottle for another half hour or so. If he does start fussing go ahead and feed him, otherwise he shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

“I’ll keep the door open so I can hear him if he needs me.”

“Very good. Have a good night, Martha.”

“See you tomorrow, Dr. Erskine.”

The lights shut off in the make-shift nursery and Steve lets out a little sigh. Just across the hall the nurse flicks on a small television set. Machines in the nursery whirr and hum in silence. The heat for the building comes on overhead, the vents creaking as they expand. Lights from across the hall flicker and reflect into the room and the show keeping the nurse’s attention murmurs and laughs at its own jokes. The door creaks just slightly as a shadow stumbles into it. A foot scuffs across the floor. Steve gurgles and opens his heavy little eyes to a dark room. He kicks off his blanket and kicks his legs twice more for good measure. His eyes start to adjust to the darkness, another shadow bumping into one of the machines. They swear under their breath. Steve squeals. He rolls onto his stomach and lets out a little huff, looking around for the cause of the noise. An ugly little man with tiny glasses was peering at him through his crib.

“Hello, there, my little infant,” Zola grins. “Don’t worry—I won’t hurt you.” He snickers. “Well…you won’t _feel_ it anyway.”

Steve babbles softly and pushes himself over and up to sit on his haunches, watching the little man dig through his coat pockets. Zola pulls out a small bottle and mumbles to himself. He looks around the room and frowns. Steve watches him with interest as the tiny man shuffles around the room and begins to quietly open and close drawers and cabinets. His interest however doesn’t last very long as Steve starts yawning and sucking on his fingers and hand. He continues to babble cheerfully, switching hands after a while.

“ _Verdammt_. Why are there no syringes in this _room_?!” Zola hisses, fighting off his temper and shutting the drawer slowly. “Perhaps I could get him to ingest it somehow…” He turns around to find Steve standing and holding the side of the crib for support. “Oh. You can stand. I suppose that does make sense, given your age. Of course that would also mean the serum has already affected your basic motor skills…”

“Bah!” Steve squeals, reaching out towards the counter. Zola furrows his brow.

“Keep it down, you little bastard. What is it you want?”

“Baaahhhhaaaaa!” Steve shrieks, bouncing up and down on his pudgy legs. 

Zola shushes him and looks around, spotting the bottles and formula on the counter behind him. He chuckles and turns back to Steve with a wicked grin. “Very good, that shall be a perfect aid for killing you.” He reaches for the formula and looks over the back of the box, mumbling to himself. Zola pulls the tiny bottle from his coat pocket and holds it up for Steve to see with a grin. “With this in your formula it will look as though you died of natural causes, your fragile little body unable to adapt to the effects of the super serum. What a shame.”

Steve shrieks louder this time and shakes the side of the crib.

“ _Be quiet_ , you little--” Zola looks up when the nurse enters the doorway and yawns, reaching for the lights and rubbing her eyes.

“Alright, Steven, alright, I’m up.”

She flicks on half of the lights and looks around the room with a frown. Everything seemed to be where it should. The nurse rubs her eyes and sighs, approaching the counter. She opens up the formula and starts scooping some into one of the bottles, Steve squealing and babbling. He was reaching his arms out and staring intently at the cabinet just below where she was preparing his meal. The nurse glances at him and chuckles.

“There’s nothing in there for you, my angel.” The nurse glances at Steve again and gasps. Inside the cabinet Zola tenses up. “Well would you look at _you_!” She coos, scooping Steve up from his crib. “Look at my big man standing all by himself. Did you get up all on your own? What a big boy…” She holds him on her hip and bounces him lightly, mixing up the formula. “I’ll have to go write that down for the doctor in the morning…” The nurse places his bottle into the microwave and turns it on. She puts Steve back down in his crib. “Don’t go anywhere, my little angel, I’ll be right back.”

Steve sucks on his hand again, Zola peeking out of the cabinet when he’s sure he’d heard her leave. He grabs a syringe from the cabinet and shoves it into his pocket. “Damn woman…if I stay here much longer I won’t be able to escape…” Zola glances at the microwave when it goes off. Steve lets out a shrill little noise and puts his other hand in his mouth, looking around the room. He babbles softly and watches as Zola carefully takes the bottle out of the microwave and digs through his pockets for the vile. “Dammit, where is it?” Steve continues to babble and waves his arms around.

“Myyaauuuu!” he squeals, bouncing on his bottom.

Zola shushes him. He spots the vile on the counter and snatches it, struggling to get the bottle to open. “Verdammt…why won’t you just--” Zola pops the top off only to drop the whole bottle, the formula spilling across the floor. “DAMMIT!”

“Who the hell are you?!”

The nurse raises her pistol with both hands. Zola stays crouched down on the ground. She steps tentatively through the doorway, quickly making her way to Steve’s crib. He reaches up for her and she carefully scoops him up with one arm, keeping her gun pointed at Zola as she backs away from him slowly. “Don’t you move.”

“Now, now, my dear, there’s no need for--”

“Shut up,” she snaps. “Stay right where you are or I’ll shoot.” Steve grips her scrubs and starts to suck on them, whimpering at the shakiness of the nurse’s voice. The nurse sets down her gun and grabs the receiver from the wall. She keeps Steve bouncing on her hip, cooing and hushing him. She dials a number. Zola stays eerily quiet and still as she waits for a response. She sighs in relief when someone picks up. “Agent Hill? We have an intruder--”

She lets out a little gasp and drops the phone. A sharp pain followed by numbness spreads through her side. Red starts to bleed through her scrubs. She lets out a whimper and drops to her knees, Zola lowering his gun. He chuckles, shaking his head. “Tch. What a pity.” He approaches her slowly, the nurse reaching for her gun on the counter while keeping Steve pressed firmly against her. “You know—you didn’t have to die. I only came for the boy.”

He starts to pry Steve from her arms but she shakes her head and struggles to keep her hold, letting out a little sob when Zola eventually pulls the baby from her grasp. “No, no, please, not the baby—not Steven, he hasn’t done anything, please…” She collapses onto the floor and grabs his pants leg as Zola steps over her.

“No,” he hums, holding up his gun. “Not yet anyway.” 

Her arm falls limp against the floor.

 

 

 

“What happened here?” Director Fury approaches the other agents swarming the halls. 

Agent Hill turns to him with a scowl, her arms crossed. She sighs and shakes her head. “An intruder. We haven’t identified them yet but we’re expecting results within the next few minutes.” They both look down at the agents taking care of the nurse.

“Cause of death?”

“Two bullets.” Hill bites her lip. “The first was in her central right abdomen, just to the side of her naval. The next shot was only a minute apart and entered above her left brow. That was the kill shot. It wouldn’t have mattered though she would’ve bled out from the first shot in a matter of minutes.”

Fury nods and looks around. Other agents were searching around the room, scanning and dusting for whatever they could find. “And the child?”

“Gone.”

“Have you alerted Erskine?”

“He’s on his way…” She furrows her brow, glancing at the phone that was still hanging off the wall. “I should’ve been here faster. Even if—even if I couldn’t have saved her—at least I could’ve gotten the baby--”

Director Fury places a hand firmly on her shoulder. “There’s nothing you could’ve done, Maria. You don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“Let me through. Dammit, let me through!”

“Dr. Erskine--”

The doctor pushes past the agents at the elevator and runs down the hall towards the nursery. He stops short when he sees the agents and coroners surrounding the nurse on the floor. Erskine runs a hand through his hair, looking around in a panic. He shares a knowing look with Director Fury and lets out a little breath. The doctor takes of his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Agent Hill approaches him tentatively, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder and drawing away when he looks up at her.

“Dr. Erskine,” her voice chokes slightly in her throat. She looks down at her feet. “I’m so sorry…I should’ve responded faster--”

“No, no,” he shakes his head, putting his glasses back on with a sigh. “I should not have broken protocol. Agent Carter offered her services and I refused them. I did not imagine the boy would—that anything would happen--” Erskine rubs his eyes. “It was my fault.”

Fury steps forward. “Peggy contacted me earlier about whether or not she should still station herself near the boy and I was the one who sent her home for the night, not you. The nurses under your supervision aren’t fully trained agents…and her underestimation was the cause of her death. I would like to know why. This person obviously did not sneak up on her otherwise she would not have had time to call in the threat.”

Erskine nods. “Do we have identification yet?”

“Not yet. The labs are working on it and I have agents reviewing the security footage. Somehow our ghost didn’t set off the alarm which means he or she had help getting inside.”

“We’ve ruled out the security desk,” Hill says, looking over her paperwork. “And all the custodial staff. We think it was one of our higher-ranking agents. Someone who had access to this floor.”

“And to the boy,” Erskine sighs, placing a hand to his temple. “May I—may I see the room?”

The agents surrounding the doorway look up at Fury, Fury nodding and motioning for him to go in. Erskine steps slowly inside, expecting something out of a horror picture but instead coming across nothing more than an empty hospital nursery and numerous agents scanning the cabinets for prints. He steps towards the small crib and furrows his brow.

Fury turns towards Maria. “If the intruder didn’t sneak up on Ms. Smith—why is there formula spilled on the floor?”

Agent Hill clears her throat. “We asked ourselves the same question…however my thoughts are that she came into the room while the intruder hid and started making the formula for the baby. He must’ve noticed the intruder right away and was making a fuss about it. Agent Carter said he would become extremely excitable whenever someone entered the room.”

Fury furrows his brow and looks around. “If they were already in the room when Marth came in…and she had to reach the phone by the door…how did they hide from her?”

“Director Fury.” One of the agents reading prints off the cabinets stands and salutes him. “We can’t get a read on any of these prints. At least—not an accurate one.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the person these prints belong to died…and I don’t mean are presumed dead. I mean their body was identified after a bombing in Berlin. They’ve been dead for years.”

Erskine stands from observing the spilt formula on the floor. “Were you given a name?”

“O-of course…” the agent hands Erskine his device. “A man—Dr. Arnim Zola.”

He gawks at the picture on the screen, handing the device back to the agent and walking towards the crib. Erskine stares down at the empty bed. His knuckles turn white from the grip on the frame.

Fury takes the device from the agent and looks over the picture, glancing at Erskine. “You know this man, doctor?” Erskine mumbles a response. Fury furrows his brow and steps towards the other man. “Dr. Erskine…do you know this man?”

“Arnim Zola…” Erskine mumbles. He runs a hand through his hair. “The response team arrived within minutes of the gunshots, yes?” Agent Hill nods. “That means we still have time—we can’t let Zola leave the D.C. area with the boy, shut down the airports and do a full search, Zola will need the airlines to return to Germany. We can still save the boy--”

“You heard him!” Agent Hill orders, everyone turning to listen. “Call every airstrip in the D.C. area and shut them down. No planes leave until each and every terminal is searched from top to bottom, now move it!”

Director Fury catches Erskine’s arm and quirks a brow. “So _you do_ know this man.”

Erskine shakes his head. “I did not expect… If we don’t find Zola or the boy soon I fear we won’t see either of them ever again.”

 

 

 

Agents had already begun swarming the streets. Zola swears under his breath and hurries through the dark, the rain coming down in torrential amounts. There was no point in attempting to find a plane. Zola knew SHIELD had already shut down the terminals and his plane would’ve been long gone. Now Zola’s only chance of getting back to base was getting out of D.C. and to arrange his flight to meet him elsewhere. 

He shuffles quickly through the rain and catches sight of a convenience store across the street. On the corner was a public telephone. Zola hurries across the street and yells at the cars that stop short for him and honk. He struggles to dig some change out of his pockets with only one hand and has to stand on tip toe in order to reach the numbers to dial.  
Inside his coat Steve continues to wail at the top of his lungs.

The line begins to ring, Zola snapping at the child to shut up. He shifts impatiently. His beady eyes continue to look around for anything suspicious, anyone that could be watching them. Zola tenses when the line picks up.

“Angeline? It’s Zola.” He sighs, swearing under his breath. “Yes, yes, I know the plane already left, listen—I need another flight.” Zola furrows his brow. “The—the child? Is he—of course he’s dead! I wouldn’t be calling if he wasn’t! Are you going to get me a flight or not, you stupid--” He scowls. “ _New York_?! How the hell am I supposed to get to New York?! Jah, I know we have a base there but—YOU’RE NOT LISTENING! I’m stranded in D.C. you _verdammt_ bitch!” Steve wails louder when Zola yells, Zola shushing him and attempting to block out the noise. “Nothing, nothing, it’s nothing—New York, you said?” He nods and looks around. “Jah, I see the bus stop. You’re sure?” Zola sighs and wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Very well. Tell Herr general I shall return shortly. Hail HYDRA.”

Zola grumbles to himself and looks both ways this time before making his way across the street, starting up the hill towards the bus bench. Steve was starting to hiccup from crying for so long. The little man frowns at the child. “Stupid boy…you’re a real pain in the ass, I hope you know. No matter. It will be minutes before my bus arrives and by the time it does you’ll have stopped crying altogether. In fact—with all this rain no one will notice your rotting body until morning.”

He sits down when he reaches the bench and pulls Steve out of his coat with a scowl. The baby was red faced and splotchy, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Zola grumbles and sets the infant on the bench next to him as Steve continues to scream, digging through his pockets. He pulls out the vile and a medical syringe he’d snatched from the cabinet, filling it with the black liquid from the vile.

“Scream as loud as you want, little bastard,” Zola chuckles, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “No one is going to come save you. No one even knows where you are.” He picks Steve back up and places him on his lap. Steve struggles against his grip, Zola fighting to pin him down with one hand and hold the syringe in the other. “Stop squirming, you little--” Zola’s able to grab one of Steve’s arms. He holds it out straight, Steve’s crying stopping as he stares wide-eyed at the ugly little man and starts to whimper. The needle pricks Steve’s skin and he lets out another wail, flinging his arm out of Zola’s grip and the syringe flying to land a few feet away on the sidewalk, starting to roll down the hill. 

“Nein, nein, nein, nein, nein!” Zola jumps to his feet with Steve still in his arms and runs after it, catching it with his foot. He lets out a sigh of relief. Steve struggles in the awkward position Zola was holding him. The little man chuckles and holds Steve up by his armpits to look at him face to face. “A nice try, little dummkopf, but a futile attempt.” Steve whimpers. “You can only escape the jowls of death for so long--”

Steve grabs Zola’s glasses off his face and wails, waving them around in his fist. “What are you doing?!” Zola snaps. “Give those back, I need those to--” Steve flings the glasses away, Zola looking around frantically for them but unable to see anything without them. “No…” He steps back to look around, but the syringe rolls away from his foot, Zola screaming in frustration. “NO!”

He sneers at the baby in his arms. “You…you little BRAT!” Zola gives Steve a shake and he starts to cry again, Zola paying him no mind. “Why would you do that?!” He gives Steve another shake and the baby wails as loud as he can.

“Hey!” A woman rounds the corner, Zola having to squint through the rain and the dark to see the figure coming towards him. “What are you doing?” Steve continues to shriek and sob. A bus comes around the corner as the woman walks towards Zola, the little man starting to panic, looking from the figure moving towards him and his one chance for escape. Zola drops the baby and runs towards the bus stop, the woman letting out a scream and running to Steve.

The bus pulls up to the stop and opens the doors. Zola quickly looks towards the woman scooping up the child and jumps on board, pulling out his gun. “You’ve got five seconds to close these doors! DRIVE!”

“Hey!” The woman stands back up with Steve pressed safely against her. “Stop that bus--!” By the time she’d started towards the doors they’d closed, the bus pulling away as she bangs on the side. The bus disappears around the corner and the woman sighs, looking down at the baby in her arms. Steve was sniffling and sobbing and tugging at the woman’s coat. She ducks under the hood for the bus stop to get out of the rain.

The woman pulls her scarf off her dripping hair and shakes the loose strands from her face. She looks down at the baby in her arms. Steve squirms and whimpers, hiccupping slightly from crying so much, sucking on his hand. She smiles and looks him over, furrowing her brow. “He—he dropped you…” The large gash on the back of Steve’s head from hitting the pavement had already scarred over and was starting to pale. “What in the world--?”

Steve babbles and reaches for her face, whimpering, his bottom lip quivering. She stares at him for a moment before looking around, searching for a figure moving through the rain, somebody who looked as though they were desperately searching for a child. Surely someone was missing this baby. The woman sighs and looks back down at him. She smiles. Steve continues babbling softly, the woman taking off her shawl and wrapping him snuggly, rocking him in her arms. His little hands grab her face and he smiles. She smiles in response. Her eyes rest on the plastic bracelet around his wrist.

“Steven Grant…huh,” she smiles and runs a hand over his hair. “Don’t worry, little one, you’re with Sarah now.” He babbles cheerfully and holds her face in his tiny hands, Sarah pressing her forehead against his. “I’ll take care of you.”

He yawns. Sarah tucks him in her arms. She pulls her scarf back up over her hair and looks around before stepping back out, making sure to tuck Steve safely inside her coat to keep him shielded from the rain. As Sarah rounds the top of the hill, several agents run through the rain, not noticing the sounds of a baby babbling in the safety of a young woman’s arms a few blocks away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on  Tumblr 

A woman in a loose-fitting blouse steps out onto the porch of a rather modest farm house. The coast of Maine was nothing like New York. But after eighteen unexpected years Sarah Rogers was nothing but resilient. After losing her husband she wanted to make do. She was going to tough it out even if she was alone…and then rather unexpectedly she wasn’t.

Sarah didn’t mean to keep the baby. But she didn’t know the D.C. area well. She was there for a job she didn’t even get. Saving a baby from whatever fate the little man had in store for him was not part of her plans for the evening. Still…she went to every hospital and every police station she could find…but no one was missing a Steven Grant. After two more nights in an overpriced hotel room she couldn’t afford, caring for a baby that wasn’t hers, Sarah began to think: what if he was hers? She couldn’t bear to leave him at any of the stations or hospitals. He just seemed so scared already. But she’d left her information…if someone came looking.

After so many years she’d expected someone—anyone—to come looking for the boy but no one ever did.

And after three years in a cramped New York apartment with a rather… _unique_ baby boy Sarah decided that toughing it out wasn’t working anymore. She sold her apartment, quit her job, took the money her husband’s family had so graciously left for her and made Steve her priority.

The house was a fixer upper and the barn was run down beyond proper use, the winters were terrible, and everything was so SO far away. But she’d grown rather fond of it here. When the wind blew just right she could smell the ocean and the fields of grass and trees made everything tranquil.

“Steven?”

The wind picks up, Sarah pushing her hair from her face as she steps out into the yard. Weather called for storms later on. Clouds were already starting to roll in. She furrows her brow and looks up the large oak tree in the yard. It was hard to see anything through all the leaves. Sarah steps back towards the house, the wind rushing through the fields.

“Steven!” she calls, holding her hair back as the wind blows.

A young man leaps off the roof, Sarah letting out a squeak and spins around. She sighs, placing her hands on her hips. “Steven…how many times must I tell you--?”

“Sorry, Ma,” he says sheepishly. Steve points up towards the roof with his hammer. “I was just trying to fix the--”

“Never mind that,” she interrupts. “I told you I’d get a contractor out here when I could.” Sarah places a hand on his back and nudges him towards the house. “Come on then. Inside before the rain starts.”

Steve rubs his neck, climbing the porch stairs. After eighteen years Steve had grown into a healthy young adult. None of his prior ailments had lingered. He was thin but he was tall and there was a broadness to his shoulders and a thickness to his arms. Sarah enjoyed teasing him about how handsome he was. He’d be a real heartbreaker if he wasn’t so shy.

“What were you thinking for dinner?” she asks, taking his arms as they walk side by side.

“Well…” His ears grow red, clearing his throat. “Actually…I wanted to uhh—to talk to you…you know? About umm…about school…”

He opens the door for her, pulling it off its hinges like it were a butterfly’s wing. Steve flushes and tries putting it back, Sarah patting his arm. His face glows bright red as he mumbles his apologies.

She laughs lightly and pulls a scarf from the front closet, tucking her hair inside and tying it around her head. “Don’t worry about it, you can fix it later.” Steve sets it back in the doorway, leaning the door against the frame and stepping back cautiously to make sure it stays. Sarah sighs. She leans against the wall, watching him, her heart aching. Her hand fiddles with the locket around her neck, Sarah giving Steve a small smile when he turns towards her.

“You didn’t apply to school, did you?” she asks, gently, Steve looking away from her. He walks around her to sit down on the stairs, his head hanging between his shoulders. She reaches out to run a hand through his hair. “Steve…you could be anything you want. You know I believe that.” He sighs. “You don’t have to sit here in this town and wait for your life to catch up with you.”

“It wouldn’t matter…” Steve mumbles. “I just—I destroy everything. I know that you wanted me to go to art school but I just…couldn’t face normal people without you. I chickened out.”

Sarah runs her hand through his hair, gently lifting his chin to look at him. He pulls away from her to grab his toolbox from the porch and start working on the door.

She knew he was something great. Ever since she found him that night she knew. And she was honest. Small town people tended to talk and…well…when Steve eventually asked if he was hers she didn’t lie. She didn’t tell the whole truth, but she didn’t lie. Steve may not have been hers at first but he was now and she loved him. No matter the amount of damage he accidentally caused, the people he scared, the fights he was in…Sarah wasn’t afraid of him. She did everything she could to make him feel like he was special, that he mattered, that he was a somebody. They found things he was good at. Steve liked drawing and painting, he learned how to cook and fix things around the house—even if he was usually the one that broke them. 

Sarah tried, but Steve was just…different. 

He’d never been sick. He’d never broken a bone. He could outrun cars, lift things ten times his size, and bend just about anything in half. Any cuts, gashes, scrapes, punctures, and bruises healed in a matter of time. Sarah could never think of anything clever to say about that. She would tell him he was blessed, that his powers were a gift. But Steve didn’t feel normal. He felt like an outsider. Sarah could see it on his face, when he got lost in thought, it was like he was on the other side of a window stuck looking in.

“Great…” Sarah grumbles, slamming the fridge closed. “I need to make a trip into town.” She steps out of the kitchen and glances at Steve. He finishes screwing the door back on and tests it—gingerly—smiling at the progress. “You should come with me. We could try selling some more of your art.”

“Are--” Steve tenses, his face falling. “Are you…sure?” He wipes his hands on his jeans. “I’m fine if you don’t want me to--”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she grabs his jacket off the rack and hands it to him. “You can sell your art while I get groceries. I’ll even let you cook something you like for dinner.”

Steve shrugs, pulling on his jacket. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

Sarah tosses him the keys. She can’t help but smile when he beams at her. “You can even drive.”

 

 

 

Town was about ten miles from the house. The road that took them there was mainly gravel and dirt and only one car could fit on it at a time. It came out onto a larger road that led to a two-lane paved street that was used as the main road for the town. About a thousand or so people lived in the area so everyone knew everyone else. People liked Sarah. The men especially. They thought she was a firecracker with her long, blonde hair and quick wit. She had a bit of a bold personality that was masked by her kind smile. People in town didn’t like Steve though. It seemed whenever he showed his face in town the people scattered as they went about their business.

Fortunately, no one could spot him pushing the truck into town. Not three miles down the road and they’d blown a tire. Sarah had offered to push too but she didn’t have the right shoes for it. High heels on a farm. Steve couldn’t help but tease her about it. Besides, to Steve it felt like he was pushing a toy wagon.

“Alright,” Sarah says, climbing out of the truck. “You alright?” Steve nods, barely out of breath. “Damn, piece of junk.” She kicks the blown tire with a scowl. “I just bought these too!” Sarah places her hands on her hips and looks around, her eyes narrowing on the auto garage. Steve could see what she was thinking without her having to say anything at all. She picks up her pocketbook and pulls out a cosmetic mirror, Steve smirking. Sarah tucks any loose strands of hair neatly in place and clicks the mirror closed. “You wait by the truck, this won’t take long…”

Steve leans against the bed, the tires skidding in the gravel as it starts to move. He stands up straight, stepping away from the vehicle, Sarah biting her lip. She holds up her hands and smiles.

“Try…not to touch anything,” she pecks his cheek and ruffles his hair. “How about you take the paintings over to Sawyer and see if he’ll buy any of them? I’m going to argue for a free tire and pick up the groceries…alright?” Sarah looks both ways, making her way across the main road. She waves back at him. “When you’re done wait for me by the truck!”

He waves her off and sighs, grumbling. “Yeah, yeah, I know…wait by the truck…don’t touch anything…”

Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around. A few people walking by purposely walk further around him to get where they’re going, the ones in pairs whispering to one another. Steve sighs and grabs his paintings and some of his still-lifes from the back of the truck. He holds them up so they don’t drag against the ground as he treks his way towards the last shop in the parking lot. 

It wasn’t really a shop. It was more of a plastic canopy that the vendor set up over the crafts he bought and sold. The vendor—Sawyer—was a heavyset man who didn’t particularly care for Steve, but he talked to him at least. Though by the tone in his voice Steve figured it was because he was afraid of him—just like everyone else. Steve waits patiently as Sawyer attempts to woo some elderly women into purchasing something. They catch sight of Steve out of the corner of their eyes and wave the vendor off, quickly scurrying away.  
Sawyer tenses up, Steve clearing his throat.

“H-hey, Mr. Sawyer,” he smiles politely. “I have some new ones for you…if you’d like?”

The man clears his throat and forces a shaky smile. “Oh…hello, Steve…” he motions for him to set the paintings on the table, “let’s see what you got then.” Steve bites his lip and looks around. People walking in and out of the stores turn their heads away when he catches their eye. He sighs. Steve went to school with some of these people, most he graduated with. Others watched him grow up. Sarah had been bringing him here for as long as he could remember. But the minute people started learning about his ’special powers’ everyone was afraid of him. “Well,” Sawyer coughs. “I can give you $75 each. How—how does that sound?”

“$75? Well, I--”

“$100!”

Steve furrows his brow. “Huh? But I didn’t--”

“Fine! $120!” Sawyer pulls the money out of his deposit box and flicks though it before handing it to Steve. “That’s $240 for the paintings and I can do $120 for the charcoals. Is that good? Yes?”

“Oh, uhh…yeah,” Steve smiles hesitantly. “Th-thanks, Mr. Sawyer, that’s great.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, kid, I—I gotta go.” He puts up his ‘Be Back Soon’ sign on the table and hurries away towards his van, Steve frowning.

“Yeah…okay…”

He sighs and pockets the money, scuffing his foot in the gravel. As he walks back towards the truck the people span out again to do everything they can to avoid him. Steve had learned to ignore it over the years. It still stung of course. When he was little he could remember getting separated from Sarah in the store once. He reached out to everyone around him, but no one would touch him, get near him, paid him any attention. Eventually Steve just sat in the middle of the aisle and cried. Sarah found him of course, made everything seem better, but he could remember her struggling to explain why no one wanted to help him, why no one liked him. She didn’t really have a reason.

Not being able to control it felt like the worst part. Steve didn’t know why he was the way he was he just was. It didn’t feel fair being quarantined for something he couldn’t control. All he wanted was to be liked, to have a friend, anyone. He just wanted to be like everyone else.

Steve leans—gingerly—against the truck with his hands in his pockets. He smiles when Sarah trudges over to him with the tire held awkwardly in her arms. She sets it down and groans, leaning her arms against the truck.

“I hate tires…”

“You could’ve rolled it,” Steve suggests.

She laughs, throwing her head back. “I could see it now. Me, in my heels, chasing after the tire I decided to roll across the street.” Sarah wipes her forehead on her sleeve. “Think you can hold the truck up while I change the tire?” Steve nods, Sarah grabbing her tools from the bed. She rolls the tire towards the busted one, Steve lifting the truck with ease. “So…what did Sawyer give you for the paintings?”

“$360.”

“ _Each_?!”

He shakes his head. “No, no, $120 each, $360 in total.”

Sarah removes the old tire and shoves it aside, putting the new one in place. “Well…that’s not too bad then, huh? Some extra money for school or—whatever.” She finishes screwing the last nut on and huffs. “Alright, you can set it down now. Just sling the old one in the back and we can figure out what to do with it later. I’m going to get the groceries.” She grabs a rag from the truck and wipes off her hands, tossing her tools back into the bed. “You’re welcome to come in with me. Pick something out?”

“No, that’s alright. You can surprise me.” He looks around warily but tries not to show it. “I’ll just—wait out here.”

“Suit yourself,” she smiles, giving his arm a squeeze.

Steve watches her go, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wouldn’t be welcome anyways. As Sarah enters the store a few people smile and nod at her. A few boys were playing on the other side of the parking lot, Steve sighing and watching them. He’d never had a friend. No one had ever invited him to join in at school or on the playground. Steve walks along the road, people continuing to glance and whisper at him. He tries to ignore it.

“Catch it, Liam!”

The smallest in the group jumps to catch the Frisbee they were tossing, excitedly letting out a noise. Steve smiles and leans against the telephone pole. It shifts just slightly, his feet skidding in the gravel. He stands straight and looks around. No one had seemed to notice. The pole didn’t look too out of place though, it had barely even moved. Steve doesn’t bother with it. Sarah had already reminded him not to touch anything.

His eye catches on a man not much older than him. He had dark hair that hung down in his face, his head cocking to the side as he stares at Steve. Steve feels his ears heat up.

He walks quickly away from the pole, keeping his head down as he passes by a few people, hands shoved into his jacket. The Frisbee the boys were playing with lands at his feet. Steve stops and stares down at it, glancing up at the boys.

“I got it!”

Steve blinks as the little boy runs right up to him. He smiles lightly and crouches down, picking up the disc and holding it out to the boy. “Here you go.”

The kid smiles at him and takes the disc. “Thanks…” He looks towards the older boys approaching them and back at Steve with a toothy grin. “Do you wanna play too?” 

“No, Liam, let’s go!” His brother grabs the little boy’s arm and pulls him away from Steve, trying to get him to walk faster. The boy looks back at Steve obviously confused by his brother’s reaction. Steve frowns when the older boy scowls at him. He pulls his brother along, Steve turning to walk away. “Mom says not to talk to that guy, he’s a freak.”

A pang shoots through Steve’s chest, turning to look back at the boys as they walk away. He sighs and kicks up some of the gravel. Even little kids weren’t giving him a chance. Steve gives up trying to integrate with the crowd and goes back to waiting for Sarah, leaning against the back of the truck. So much for trying to prove himself. He didn’t belong here, Sarah was right about that much, but where else was he going to go? Some other crappy little town where everyone pegged him as a freak before they got to know him? Steve didn’t even know half the people in this town by name because they never bothered to even introduce themselves. Some wholesome community.

“GO LONG!”

The little boy runs towards him, struggling to keep up with the disc in the air. He keeps his eyes plastered on it as it flies and his arms in the air ready to catch it. Steve watches him run past and glances towards the road, furrowing his brow. “Hey, kid--”

“Liam, watch the road!”

Steve runs after him, catching the kid with one arm as the disc skids out into the road, his shoulder ramming into the telephone pole. It lurches, Steve swearing under his breath. Cars screech on the pavement as the pole moves forward, people screaming, others getting out of their cars. Steve lets go of the kid and wraps both his arms around the pole as it starts to fall, pulling as hard as he can to set it upright. He sighs and pushes it back down into the ground, brushing off his hands. Steve turns around and looks back down at the kid and smiles at him, the boy smiling back up at him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up when Steve hears a metallic snapping sound. One of the cables breaks loose from the electrical box and plummets downward towards the road. People scream and run from their cars, the cable smashing down on top of them. Steve pulls the boy into him and huddles around him, sparks flying in every which direction as the cable sputters and hisses, shooting out electricity. The noise begins to die down, Steve glancing over his shoulder.

He lets go of the boy and sits up, looking him over. “You alright?” The boy nods, grinning at him like that was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. Steve wasn’t used to people smiling at him like that.

“Liam!”

“My baby!”

His mother and the older boys run towards them, other people starting to come out of hiding and looking around. Liam runs to his mother and she scoops him up into her arms. Steve stands, anxiously watching the people around him.

“Oh, my baby, thank God you’re alright,” she kisses his hair, Liam squirming against her. Her eyes rest on Steve. She sneers at him, Steve recoiling, taking a step back. “What’s wrong with you? You could’ve hurt someone!”

“Yeah!”

“You’re lucky no one got killed!”

“I…I was just…I was just trying to help…”

Steve adjusts his position against the crowd, backing slowly towards the truck. Sirens were beginning to sound. The people keep walking towards him. Steve raises his hands defensively. He wished they’d just walk around and avoid him like they had. They all grumble and yell amongst themselves, Steve’s stomach twisting when his back hits against the truck.

“Steven!” He looks around, Sarah dropping her groceries, her milk and eggs spilling out all over the ground. She beelines towards the crowd, a fire in her eyes, waving her arms at all of them. “Back off! What the hell do you think you’re doing? What’s the matter with all of you?” She catches sight of the downed cable in the road and gasps, placing a hand to her mouth. Sarah glances at Steve and back at the crowd, scowling at all of them.

The sirens get louder, two patrol cars pulling into the parking lot. The sheriff gets out of one of them and walks up towards the crowd. He steps between the people and Sarah, letting out an aggravated sigh. “Alright…what happened here?” His eyes shoot directly towards Steve, Steve bowing his head as Sarah steps in front of him defensively.

“We want that boy _arrested_!”

“He’s not safe to be around _normal_ people!”

“I just--” Steve stutters. “I was just trying to catch the kid before he ran into the road--”

“Get in the truck, Steven,” Sarah whispers, her tone hard and strict. Steve does as she says, dodging around to quickly climb into the passenger seat. She glares at the crowd. “That cable could’ve come down at any time! What’s the point in blaming my Steve? It was an _accident_.”

“You can’t keep defending him, Ms. Rogers!”

“That boy’s a menace!”

Sarah crosses her arms. Steve crouches down in the car, watching from out the back window. “He can’t control it! It’s not his fault!”

“Someone could’ve gotten hurt!”

“My Liam could’ve gotten killed!”

“ _FREAK_!”

The crowd yells and murmurs among themselves, the sheriff sighing, rubbing his eyes. “Alright, alright, simmer down. Ms. Rogers, we’ve talked about this…you can’t keep bringing that kid into town if he’s going to _destroy_ everything!”

“And I’ve told you,” she snaps, standing on her toes to get in his face. “That I’m not isolating him like some wild animal. He’s a person _just_ like you and me.”

“People don’t knock down telephone poles, Sarah! Look at what he did!” Steve cringes, the sheriff motioning towards the sparking wire and crushed cars. “Now, I can’t tell you what that boy is, Sarah, but he most certainly is not a person. People can’t do things like this.”

“Don’t you _dare_ insinuate anything about my son in front of me--”

“For god’s sakes, Sarah, he’s not your son! I’m surprised you even want to call him your son after everything he’s done to terrorize this town!”

Steve’s heart drops into his stomach as he buries his face into his arm. The crowd murmurs in agreement. He could practically hear the way Sarah was fuming, her lips drawn thin, fists clenched white by her sides, eyes burning.

“How dare you,” she snarls. “All of you! How dare you slander him like this! Steven is the kindest, gentlest boy I could have ever had the pleasure of raising as my own. Sweeter than any of your shitty kids!” A few of the mothers in the crowd begin raising their voices, Sarah shouting over them. “Oh, shut up! I could point out every single child in this town that I’ve caught shooting at squirrels or birds, or shaving cats for fun. I know Steve can’t control his strength and sometimes it gets the best of him. But I swear if you didn’t treat him the way you did he’d offer right now to help clean up this mess and he’d do it faster than any of your _public_ officials. But I’d rather he never talk to any one of you assholes ever again!” She scoffs. “So…have fun being out of power for the next two weeks!”

No one in the crowd says a word. A gust of wind picks up and blows the scarf from her hair. She stands her ground, glaring at all of them. The sheriff lowers his voice, stepping towards her. “Now, Sarah, there’s no need to--”

“If you have anything else to say to me, _sheriff_ , you can visit me at home.” 

Sarah curls her lips at him, at all of them, turning on her heels to climb into the truck. She starts it and swerves it around to back into one of the other cars. The truck skids forward, kicking up dust and rocks as Sarah hits the gas and speeds onto the road, the crowd yelling slurs and slanders after them. Steve squeezes his eyes shut. He sinks into his seat and rests his head against the door.

 

 

 

Steve stays seated on the back porch even as the argument inside starts getting heated. He sighs, tucking his head between his knees and rocking back and forth. It wasn’t like it was his fault. It was an accident. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, Steve would never… He blinks when he realizes he’s crying.

What did it matter? Everyone here thought he was some kind of monster anyways. The only way he was ever going to prove himself was by leaving but he couldn’t just abandon Sarah. She was his everything and he was all she had.

“You’re not taking him anywhere!”

“Sarah, the point is that you can’t keep defending him like this. Someone could’ve gotten hurt today…how many times is this going to happen before you keep him under control?”

“He’s not a dog! He’s a boy!”

“Which makes this trickier than it is, Sarah!” the sheriff says. There’s a pause, Steve wrapping his arms around himself. “Look…I like you, Ms. Rogers. A lot of people in this town like you. I could name a lot of names who would hate to see you get hurt defending that boy.”

He lifts his head when Sarah sniffles.

“Well, sheriff, whether you like it or not I’ll defend that boy until my dying breath. You or anyone in this town lay a single hand on his head and you’ll have to take me down first!”

Footsteps inside the house walk further and further away, the front storm door making a sound when the sheriff pushes it open. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sarah. Fact is a lot of people are gunning for that boy of yours. This is his last warning before I take him into the station, you understand?” She scoffs at him, blowing her nose. “I’d rather he stop coming in to town altogether. Folks are just—they’re scared of him. Sooner or later someone’s going to get hurt.”

The screen door slams against the frame, Steve listening as the sheriff’s car starts up and pulls down the gravel road. Steve sighs and hangs his head. So…it was either stay up here away from everyone or get arrested for showing his face in town. What a choice.

Sarah pushes open the back door and wipes her eyes, sniffling. Steve glances up at her and she smiles, Steve frowning and looking away. She walks to the edge of the porch and places her hands on her hips. The wind brushes over the lawn, Peggy taking a deep breath and humming.

“Smell that ocean, huh?” she says, running a hand over her hair. “They said it was going to storm later.” She looks over towards the barn and nods. “You should get your canvases inside before it does. Wouldn’t want those getting ruined, hmm? Art supplies these days are expensive.” Steve grunts in response, Sarah frowning. Her eyes light up. “There’s an idea! Why don’t we pick an art museum to plan a trip around? I’ve heard the Chicago one is the best, but--”

“Ma--” Steve pushes himself up off the porch. “I messed up, okay? All I ever do is try to help and no one cares! I know you told me to wait by the truck, but I couldn’t just stand there while that kid ran out in the road, could I?”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Sarah smiles but her eyes aren’t in it. “Because you’re so wonderful and good--”

“Knock it off, Ma, I’m not in the mood,” he says, pacing. “I’ve always been different from the other kids. You and I both know that. Other kids can’t pick up cars or move buildings! And how do you—how do you explain why I’ve never been sick or had a fever? Or why every time I’ve gotten a cut or a bruise I’ll go to bed and wake up and it’ll just be gone?”

She sighs, reaching out for him. “Steve--”

He pushes her away and scowls. “No, okay? They’re right about me! They are! I’m not normal and I’m not special I’m just a—a freak! One of these days I am going to hurt someone and I’m not going to be able to do anything about it!” Steve’s eyes well up with tears, Steve wiping them away. “I could hurt you…” Sarah’s face falls. “What would I do then?”

Steve sobs, Sarah stepping down off the porch and pulling him into a hug. She runs her hand over his hair and hums in his ear, rocking him slowly. He buries his face into her shoulder and hugs her back. Sarah closes her eyes. “Steve, listen to me… The reason you are the way you are is because that’s how someone wanted you to be.” She sighs, rubbing his back. “Answers aren’t always easy to find. Not everyone discovers who they are or what their purpose in life is…but I swear--” Sarah pulls back to cup his face in her hands, smiling, “--when you find it you’ll be the brightest, most brilliant star in the sky. You just need to show them how wonderful you really are, then they’ll see.”

“Ma…” Steve gently pulls away from her. “I just—sometimes I feel like I really don’t belong anywhere. Like whatever made me like this was just a mistake.”

“Steve…”

“I know it doesn’t make any sense…” he sighs, shaking his head.

Sarah bites her lip and stays by the porch, Steve shoving his hands into his jacket as he walks through the yard. He knows he’s far enough out of her sight when he reaches the tree line and hears the screen door creak shut. Steve walks and walks and walks, lost in his own head, not realizing he’s reached the ocean until he’s met with a cliff. He replays the scene over and over again in his head and it just…doesn’t end well no matter what he does.

The ocean laps up against the side of the cliff, Steve sighing and sitting down on the edge. He watches the sun set in the distance, the ocean moving calmly against its rays. Dark clouds were rolling in. Steve picks up a stone and tosses it. He loses count of how many times it skips.

What if he _did_ hurt Sarah? 

Steve would never forgive himself if something happened to her. He was dangerous enough to be around. As the years went by it just seemed like he got stronger and stronger and Steve had no idea how to control it. Whether he was shifting building foundations or…knocking down telephone cables. He sighs and runs a hand over his hair. Steve glances down at the small fishing dock where the boats were starting to come in. He could always get a job there…

Steve snorts. Until he somehow made a hole in the hull and the boat sank.

What good was it being different if everyone hated him for it?

When Steve was younger he dreamed about being a superhero. Every kid could say they’d done the same, but Steve felt it, deep down in his very core that that was what he was meant to do. He’d read comics and watch cartoons and point at the screen and exclaim how they had powers just like him. 

He just wanted to help people. But everyone here was too afraid to even give him a chance. Sarah always told him he just needed to prove himself, that he’d find his chance, but Steve wasn’t sure where to even start. The places he dreamed of were far away. They were warm and welcoming, people were happy to see him. He had friends. No one was afraid of him. That was where he was meant to be. It was home. 

But that was stupid. Sarah was his home. She was everything he ever needed. He’d have nothing if it wasn’t for her. Sarah loved him and he’d always have that…but… There had to be answers. There had to be people who were different just like him.

The sun finally sets, the sky beginning to turn dark, lightening starting to flash. There’s a rumble in the distance. Steve sighs and gets up, walking back towards the house. He couldn’t see it from where he was. Sarah was sure to be wondering where he was now. Steve lets his arms hang loose by his sides, his hands running over the tall grass. He takes a deep breath. The smell of the grass, the dirt, the spray of the ocean in the air; bugs were starting to chirp and he could hear the owls come out for the evening; the tall looming trees of birch and pine and the faint scent of their needles. This was home. 

The sky opens up and it starts to pour. Steve lets out a sigh. He keeps walking, the house still too far to see. It’s not like he could catch cold.

Steve reaches the tree line and can see the house through the rain. There was a light shining inside, Sarah probably made a cup of tea and was reading at the table, keeping one eye out for him. Worrying now that it was raining. She’d just smile at him once he got there and wouldn’t say anything about him wandering off. She’d kiss him and get him a towel and usher him into clean clothes while she warmed up his dinner. Steve huffs and shakes his head.

Sarah deserved more than having to live here in the middle of nowhere, constantly worrying over whether someone was going to take Steve away from her. And Steve knew she didn’t want him to live with her forever either.

She wanted him to have friends. She’d tease him about girlfriends…or boyfriends. About how he’d probably fall in love easy and he’d be easy to fall for, leaving a string of broken hearts behind him when he found someone he couldn’t let go of. He knew she liked teasing him because his ears turned red. But he knew she really just wanted a family for them and no one here was going to be it. Sarah wanted him to have the world and Steve just wanted her to be proud of him. She was the only one who ever wanted him.

Steve walks around to the front of the house where the oak tree stood. The tire swing Sarah had made for him was still swinging proudly. Steve hadn’t been on it in years. He sits down in the tire, pushing himself back and forth.

The porch lights turn on, the storm door creaking open as Sarah walks outside. There’s a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “Steve? Are you out here?” Steve sits up and hesitates, looking back down at his feet. He needed to leave. That’s all there was to it. Maybe not school and maybe not far but…he had to go somewhere. He sighs and pushes himself up.

Sarah smiles lightly as he walks up the porch. Her eyes looked puffy. “I told you it was going to storm,” she teases. The thunder rumbles overhead. She loops her arm with his and leads him inside. Sarah takes his jacket and hangs it up, nudging him towards the stairs. “Go change into something dry. I'll make dinner tonight.”

He doesn’t argue. He just nods.

 

 

 

The storm rumbles outside, the windows rattling. The clock ticks on the wall. There’s a creak that reverberates throughout the house. Steve sucks in a short breath, rousing out of sleep. A softer creak follows—sounding suspiciously like the storm door. Steve sits up in bed. He holds his breath, barely hearing the padding footsteps downstairs over the heavy rain outside. There was someone in the house. Steve swallows around a dry throat, brows pinching together. He needed to make sure they didn’t come upstairs to Sarah.

He pushes his blankets back, setting his feet on the floor as quiet as he can, sneaking out into the hall. He glances down the hall to Sarah’s room. Her door is still partially closed, Steve assuming she’s still asleep.

Steve tiptoes down the stairs, making sure he skips the third from the top, crouching down on the landing. The house is still dark. Steve squints around the room, searching for something to be standing out in the darkness. Everything was quiet. The rain was still falling in sheets. Steve scans the room again, a yawn catching him off guard, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He almost misses the man in the corner of the living room. 

Steve’s heart jumps in his throat.

The man hasn’t seemed to notice him. He’s crouched in the corner by the coffee table, flipping through a photo album Sarah must have left out. Steve frowns. He couldn’t get a good look at the intruder like this, it was too dark, and he didn’t have—well, unless this intruder had quicker reflexes than him Steve didn’t expect to be hurt. Besides…better him than Sarah.

There’s a creak, Steve turning his head to look up the stairs, hoping Sarah wasn’t awake, turning back and choking on his breath. The intruder was looking at him. Steve stays where he is, heart thumping in his chest. The man just watches him, cocking his head to the side.

He doesn’t do anything. The man just sits there, watching him. He didn’t…seem threatening. Steve draws himself to his full height. He walks down the rest of the stairs, the man slowly standing up as well.

Lightening flashes outside, Steve catching a glimpse of the man. He was young, barely older than him, his long hair hanging wet in his face. He’s wearing a hoodie that looks much too big for him. And if his hair wasn’t a clear indication, the man looked as though he’d been walking through the rain.

“Hello,” Steve says, furrowing his brow. “Are you lost?” The man doesn’t say anything. The dread Steve feels in his stomach only grows. “You can use the phone if you want. I could make you something to eat while you…while you wait for someone to come get you.” Still nothing. “I’m not mad. I don’t want to call the police on you…if you need help--”

“Are you Steve?”

Steve doesn’t like the small shiver that goes up his spine. He can’t answer. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. The man just cocks his head to the side, studying him. Steve feels like he’s floating outside of his body, missing the creak on the third step from the top, Sarah coming down to the landing Steve had been crouching before. She doesn’t miss a beat, cocking the shotgun in her hand and resting it against her shoulder as she aims at the man.

“Who the hell are you?” she barks, the man just looking at her. Steve blinks. He comes back to himself, turning and assessing the situation. “Don’t you move,” and in a more hushed turn, “Steve, call the police.”

“Wait, Ma--”

“Your name is Steve.” Steve looks back at the man, still eerily calm for having a gun aimed at his face. “Steven Grant. When you were 18 months old a woman named Sarah Rogers found you.” Sarah lowers her gun, Steve looking back at her confused. Her face has gone white as a sheet. “When you were 12 months old a man named Dr. Abraham Erskine adopted you from an orphanage. You became his greatest accomplishment…and failure.”

Steve shakes himself out of his trance. Only…only half the words were making sense to him. “How—how do you know that?”

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he says. “Bucky.” He makes an attempt at a smile. “I like…Bucky better.”

He talks slowly, as if the words are processing slower in his mind before they make it to his mouth. Sarah clears her throat. She places a hand on Steve’s shoulder, giving him a small nod before setting the shot gun down against the wall by the stairs. Sarah adjusts her robe and gives Bucky a wary smile.

“I’ll--” She glances back at Steve, stepping towards the kitchen. “I’ll go make some tea…”

The light comes on and casts a yellow hue in the living room. Steve and Bucky still stand a distance apart, staring at one another. Bucky doesn’t seem to know what he wants to do next. Steve steps further into the living room, keeping an eye on Bucky and taking his seat on the couch. Bucky watches him, slowly shifting over to sit on the opposite end. He looks at the photo album again, cocking his head. It’s turned to a page of pictures of Steve when he was still in grade school.

Steve looks Bucky over. The clothes he’s wearing…aren’t his. The way they fit and the way the hang…they just don’t look right. He is young though. No defining lines to his face, some stubble on his jaw.

“Do you…” Bucky looks up at him. “Your name is Bucky?” He nods. “How old are you?”

Bucky’s eyes glaze over. He spends a long time contemplating such a simple answer, Steve starting to grow anxious. Bucky looks up, looking—lost. “I don’t remember.”

“Are you…” Steve swallows. “Are you like me?”

“Not…exactly…” 

He shifts forward in his seat, both hands grabbing the hem of his sweatshirt. Bucky pulls it over his head and lets it fall on the floor with a wet plop. His shoulders don’t look as broad as Steve’s but he’s not as thin. There’s some mass to him, especially in his arms. Except…his left arm. His left arm is made entirely of metal.

Steve stares at the metal arm, realizing it’s rude and averting his eyes. His face grows red. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen a prosthetic before. It was just…unusual. Bucky seems to sense his apprehension and holds out his arm, Steve lifting his head. He reaches out, hesitant, but Bucky doesn’t pull away, Steve running his fingers over his arm. It’s colder than he expected and smoother, but there are grooves that cover the entire surface of it.

“There was never another like you.”

The light is blocked out when Sarah freezes in the doorway. She holds a tray in her hands, eyes locked on Bucky’s arm. She steps into the room when both boys turn to look at her, setting the tea down on the coffee table. Steve takes his, Sarah handing a mug to Bucky. He takes it with his right hand.

“Thank you,” Bucky says.

Sarah sits down in her chair, turning on a lamp. No one says anything. Steve frowns, watching Bucky pour an unnatural amount of cream in his tea. 

“You know why I’m like this. You know who I am.”

Bucky hums. “I know you. I know of you.”

“How?”

He gives Steve a look like this is some kind of trick question, glancing at Sarah and back at him. “I looked for you.” His shoulders relax, picking his tea back up and sipping it. “Found you here. It took a long time.”

“But—why? Why did you look for me?” Steve asks. “How do you know about me? Why…I mean, why would you…”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

Steve looks at Sarah and she’s unable to meet his eye. He furrows his brow.

“He…he said you found me.” She nods but doesn’t say anything. “Ma?”

Sarah lets out a soft sigh. She sets down her tea, pulling her locket out of her robe to fiddle with it. “I…I was about your age when I left home. I’d just graduated. Wanted to do a cross country road trip with my boyfriend—much to my mother’s dismay.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I was supposed to go to nursing school. I was going to become a doctor, actually.”

“But you got married.”

She smiles wryly, giving him a nod. “I met Joseph…fell in…something.” She shrugs. “Got married.” Sarah sighs. She picks up her tea, leaning back in her chair. “I was young. His family didn’t like me. He was a soldier…and his first term after our wedding his entire troop was shot down.” She bites her lip. “He came home as a black box and a folded flag and I found myself out in the street. My mother told me not to come back a while ago and his family didn’t want me. I took the money Joe had left me and tried to find work.”

Steve sighs. “Ma…I--”

Sarah bites her lip. She reaches for the album on the table, flipping until she finds one of the first pictures she had of Steve as a baby. Sarah peels back the protective film and reaches behind the picture. Steve watches as she pulls a small plastic medical bracelet and places it in his hand, Steve looking it over.

‘Steven Grant’ was written on the bracelet plain as day. His stomach twists, struggling to find a coherent thought. “But… Where—where did you--? I mean…” Steve looks up, trying to meet her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sarah hesitates. She runs her hand through her hair to push it over her shoulder, resting her chin in her hand. “I didn’t know how…” she says. “I was in D.C. for an interview…and I was on my way back to my motel. I remember it was raining so hard and I didn’t have an umbrella…but I heard…a baby.” Sarah smiles, letting out a watery laugh. Her eyes seem to glaze a bit with the memory. “There was a baby, crying, and I heard yelling, and I saw this little man holding a baby. I called out to him and he sort of froze. He dropped you and ran and by the time I’d reached you he was already gone.” Steve furrows his brow. “I picked you up to make sure you weren’t hurt and—you weren’t. You’d already…I can’t even describe what it was like, seeing it for the first time. The way you just—healed. And then—and then you were smiling at me…”

Sarah stares at the album in her lap. She runs her hand over one of the pages of his baby pictures, lifting the hand to her lips. Her hair slips to cascade over her shoulder. She closes the album with a thoughtful hum.

“I went all around the city, I went to every police station I could find, but no one had reported a missing baby. I stayed in town a few days and when it was time for me to leave I just…” She laughs dryly, meeting his eyes. “I couldn’t leave you. You just looked so happy when I held you and I never wanted to let you go and…” Her smile falters and guilt flashes in her eyes. She looks away. Sarah tucks her arms around herself. “And I should’ve told you a long time ago…when you first asked…”

Steve doesn’t say anything. His thumbs trace over the tiny plastic bracelet in his hands. Even the start of his story was unhappy. The only answers to his past were in this scrap of plastic, too insignificant to tell him anything at all. He clenches it in his hand. Hot, fat tears roll off his face.

“No one…claimed me?” Steve asks, his voice shaking. “No one wanted me at all?”

“Steve…” Sarah’s brow pinches together. “Don’t think about it as--”

“He couldn’t find you,” Bucky says.

Steve blinks, so lost in his own thoughts that he’d almost forgotten Bucky was there.

“Who?”

“Dr. Erskine,” he says, slowly. “He made the serum. Made…you.”

“And that’s who…” Steve glances at Bucky’s arm. “That’s who made you?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“No,” he says, furrowing his brow. “Arnim Zola. He made me.” Bucky looks down at his hands. “I was…bad. I couldn’t control it, but I did…bad things…” He stares at his hands, his arms trembling, the metal hand clenching up. “I…I don’t want to do bad things anymore,” his voice shakes, breaking his cool composure.

Bucky tears his eyes away from his hands to stare into nothing. His teeth are gritted, making his jaw clench up. But he’s not—angry. No. To Steve…to Steve he looks terrified. Terrified of himself. Terrified of everything he can do and everything he’s capable of, not knowing if he’s going to be in control or if someone’s going to get hurt.

“I just want answers…” Steve says. “Why I am the way I am. What I’m supposed to do. If I have any kind of purpose or if my life was just…a mistake.”

Bucky looks up and nods, as if he understands. “Dr. Erskine would know.”

“And you know him?” Bucky nods. “Great! Ma…” Steve turns to Sarah, grinning from ear to ear. “This is it! I can go to wherever this Dr. Erskine is, I can talk to him, maybe I can get some answers. Why he…why he made me and…and why he never--”

“He’s dead.”

The swell of hope Steve felt crashes down inside him. His face drops down to his feet, Steve hanging his head. “Oh…”

Sarah’s face falls as well. She reaches to take Steve’s hand, Steve pulling away to pick up his tea. He sips his tea and makes a face. It’s gone cold. Sarah looks up at Bucky who’s tracing the pattern on his mug with his finger.

“Someone must have sent you?” she prompts, Bucky cocking his head. “You came all this way…there must be a reason? Is there someone else looking for Steve?” She can’t help the nervous tone that sneaks its way into her question. But Bucky just looks at her, processing her words like each one had a hidden meaning.

Finally, he shakes his head. “No.”

“Did this…Dr. Erskine want to find him? Did you come looking for Steve as a favor to him?”

Bucky just stares. “I don’t know.”

Steve can feel himself get angry before it happens. He huffs out a frustrated sound, digging his hands into his hair and pulling until it starts to hurt. “Then why are you here?” Steve snaps.

“Steven…” Sarah says gently and reaches for his arm. She gives his wrist a squeeze. He lets his hands fall into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, both of them looking at him. He’s staring at his tea, head cocked oddly to the side as he thinks. “That I don’t know what you want me to know.”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t apologize for that. I shouldn’t have gotten mad, it’s not like it’s your--”

“I have a hard time. Remembering. Sometimes there’s a dark place. Sometimes it hurts.” Sarah lets out a soft whimper. Bucky doesn’t seem to notice. “I get scared. But…Dr. Erskine. He tried to help. Wanted to help. And he did. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore. I just wanted to do something for him.” Bucky looks at Steve, that odd, forced smile back on his face. “So I found you. And now…now maybe…maybe he can help you too.”

Steve furrows his brow. “You said he was dead.”

Bucky nods. “But…his house is still there. I could take you.” His brow pinches together, Bucky glancing at the photo album again. “I think—maybe—he did want me to find you. I just…it’s hard…remembering…”

His face crumples, Bucky looking away to stare at the floor.

Why didn’t _he_ look for me then? The thought is just at the tip of Steve’s tongue, but it wasn’t Bucky’s fault. And it was irrational. There was no use in Steve getting angry at him. Someone must’ve looked for him at some point. Someone must have cared…this Dr. Erskine. Enough so that years later someone finally found him.

It was just that—eighteen years ago—someone else found him first.

He knew this was coming. That he’d have to face the world and he’d have to face it alone. But he—Steve _had_ to do this. Steve looks at his mother. Sarah has her locket open in her hand, rolling the chain between her fingers. She sniffs…and smiles when Steve looks at her, closing the locket to take his hand. She already knows what he wants, what he’s going to say. Of course she does. If he was honest with himself, Steve would know he’s been thinking about leaving since graduation. But—now he has somewhere to go.

“Ma…” Steve says, his voice shaking. Sarah’s bottom lip trembles, her own tears spilling from her eyes. He picks her up gently to sit her on the arm of the couch and hugs her close to him. “I can’t leave you…”

Sarah bites her lip, watching as her son hides his tears. Her wonderful, brave, gentle son. He would carry the weight of the world on his shoulders if he could. Sarah takes a deep breath. And she’d have to let him try for him to get through the frustrations he’d been building up over the years.

“Steve…” She pulls back, giving his shoulders a squeeze. “I know what it’s like to feel out of place in the world. My mother disowned me. I married a man that liked me because I was young and naïve. When he died his family told me it would be better if I just made my own way. But I found you that night and you needed me. I wanted you. I chose you.” She cups his face, lifting his head to look at him. She smiles and brushes his tears away. “You have to decide for yourself. I just hope you’ll come back and tell me all about it.” Steve buries his face in her neck and Sarah hums, running a hand through his hair and rocking him gently.

 

 

 

Steve tiptoes down the stairs, his bag slung over his shoulder. It was nearly dawn. He’d spent the rest of the night thinking over what he was going to do, unable to sleep, wondering if this was all worth it. He knew that if he didn’t at least try then he’d never have any answers. In the end, if it didn’t all work out, he had a life he could come back to.

And…maybe Bucky too. If he wanted. They had a spare room and—just from what he remembered from last night—it didn’t seem like Bucky had anywhere to go.

He looks around the house and sighs. The banister on the stairs was still slightly crooked from where he’d tumbled into it when he was just a kid. Pictures of himself and Sarah and her old friends were hanging on the walls. Some of his paintings had been nailed up too…just above the ones he’d drawn on the walls. The would-be dining room had served as an art studio for many years now. Steve looks over all his unfinished paintings and still-lifes, smiling to himself. He was sure there were a few finished pieces still left Sarah could sell. He’d have to let her know that was okay. He looks out the window at the oak tree, the tire swinging slowly on the lowest branch. He’d spent so many years climbing and swinging from that tree. It stayed up through so many storms, even that nasty one a few summers ago that knocked a huge branch onto the roof. Sarah would have to get someone to finish fixing it before squirrels got into the attic.

Sarah’s laugh carries from out of the kitchen. Steve smiles. Hopefully she’d be alright without him. Of course she would. Sarah knew how to take care of herself. She’d been taking care of him for years. It had always been just the two of them. And she was going to be all alone in this big house. Steve sighs.

He pokes his head into the kitchen, Sarah at the table with her back to him, Bucky sitting across from her. His hair is pulled back, and he’s eating a plate of eggs while Sarah drinks her coffee, making conversation. He’s borrowed some of Steve’s clothes, looking much cleaner and put together. Bucky smiles gently at her, like he’s still learning how, Sarah throwing her head back in a laugh. Steve just observes while he can. Watching the glimpse of a life Steve wanted for Sarah. A friend at the table and a smile on her face.

Bucky notices him first, looking at him, hesitant. Sarah glances over her shoulder at him and hums. “Oh! You’re up.” She beams at him despite their interesting night, Steve trying to smile back. “I was thinking after breakfast and then you could show Bucky around and talk some more about,” she pauses, her eyes resting on his bag, “whether you…wanted to go…”

“I…wanted to get an early start.”

“Y-yes…of course…” she nods, pushing herself up from the table. Sarah walks her mug over to the sink and rinses it out, setting it in the drying rack. She stands there for a moment, gripping the counter, her shoulders trembling. Sarah places a hand over her mouth to hide the sobs, tears already streaming down her face.

“Ma…”

Sarah lets out a tiny laugh, facing him and wiping her eyes. “Listen to me…” She laughs between her sobs. “I was trying to…ship you away to art school and now…” Her voice breaks, still trying to hide her pain. “Now I don’t want you to go!”

Steve opens his mouth to respond, Sarah wiping her face off and silencing him with a determined look. She grabs a plate from the cabinet and scoops the rest of the eggs up to hand to Steve.

“Sit,” she orders, nudging him towards the table. “At least eat something before you go. And give me that bag, I know you didn’t pack right.” He holds it out for her to take, Sarah setting a cup of juice down for him before she walks out, his bag in hand.

Steve picks at his eggs, peeking at Bucky who seems to be finished. He raises a brow. “Did you have enough to eat?”

He looks at him like a startled deer, looking away just as quick. He nods. “Yes. Thank you.”

Bucky just stares at the table. Steve thinks about it, realizing that Sarah was taking a politer route, talking to Bucky first. Maybe Bucky didn’t want to take him right away. Maybe he needed a few days before traveling again. Maybe…maybe he didn’t want to go back at all. Steve frowns, swallowing around a mouthful of eggs. 

“Is,” he clears his throat. “Is it okay if we leave today? I didn’t even…I should’ve asked you first. Before just…” He trails off, ears growing red.

Bucky cocks his head, watching him with a lost glaze in his eyes. “If that’s what you’d like.” Steve’s not sure he likes that answer. “I would understand though…if you need to stay longer.”

There’s a creak on the third stair from the top. Sarah comes back in the kitchen, two packs in hand now, setting them down on the floor. “That should be enough clothes and I packed your toothbrush! You always forget it…” She takes their empty dishes, setting them in the sink. Sarah proceeds to climb onto the counter, Steve jumping up from the table.

“Mama! What are you--”

Sarah peels back the wallpaper in the corner above the fridge, pulling out a cigar box from a hole in the wall. She climbs down and chuckles, straightening her blouse. “Now…” Sarah says. “You’ll want to go to the next town over.” She flicks her hand, setting the cigar box on the counter. She opens it, several wads of bills spilling out of it. “Take the train from there and—and you know how to get a taxi or a bus.” She takes handfuls of the money, making a small stack of it and holding it out to him. “This should be enough.”

Steve doesn’t take the money. He shakes his head. “Ma…I can’t take that…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You should keep it for--”

“I was going to give it to you anyway,” she says, grabbing his hand and putting the money in it. “For when you went to school.” She smiles. “Or whatever.” Sarah closes his hand around it, her eyes welling up with tears again. “Enough to get back too.”

Steve smiles, pulling her into a hug. She snivels, pressing her face to his neck, Steve resting his chin on top of her head. It didn’t feel like a goodbye. Not really. Not like he expected it to. Too many emotions were at play, perhaps. Anxiety, heartache, excitement, a thin sense of elation, and an overlapping fear. All his life he’d been at the judgement of the same handful of people, people who’d known him for as long as he and Sarah had lived in town. Now he had to face the world. But Sarah wasn’t coming with him. He’d have to protect himself…or others from himself… Having Bucky didn’t—quite feel like a comfort. It was nice to know that he wouldn’t be completely alone.

Sarah pulls away from him, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, picking up the bags and handing one to him, one to Bucky. She gives Bucky a smile and pulls him into a hug. Something that Bucky…didn’t seem to expect. He stands there, his left arm shyly wrapping around to pat her on the back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to know more before you left,” she says, leading him into the living room.

“I’m…sorry I broke into your house…”

Sarah laughs.

Steve takes one final look around the kitchen, his heart growing heavy. He looks at the wad of cash she’d put in his hand and at the cigar box on the counter. It would be easy…to just put it back…but Sarah would hunt him down no matter how far away he’d end up. He’d just have to put it back once he got home. He tucks it into his wallet, tucking it out of mind.

Sarah’s handing Bucky the hoodie he came with, now clean and dry, Bucky pulling it on over his shirt. Steve looks around the living room. The amalgamation of furniture. The end table with the wobbly leg. All the little clay creatures he and Sarah made when he was little, lined up on the mantle.

And Sarah. Standing at the foot of the stairs, holding his jacket out to him. Steve feels his eyes get a little wet as he pulls it on.

“I could drive you,” Sarah suggests, Steve giving her a smile. “If you want.”

“No, Ma. I—I don’t think I--” It would be too much. He doesn’t have to say it. Sarah just nods and steps up to him, fussing over his jacket and shirt, pushing his hair back the way she likes it. He laughs, playfully swatting her away. “Ma…”

Sarah cups his face in her hands. She was so…tiny. Steve never realized how tiny she really was. He smiles, resting one of his hands over hers. It doesn’t keep the tears from falling.

“I love you, Mama.”

She hiccups, pulling his face down to her level. “No matter where you go…” she says, pressing her forehead to his, “I’ll always love you…”

Sarah shoos them out the door. She stands on the porch, Steve walking by the oak tree and the tire swing, passing through the overgrown weeds and grass in their front yard, his feet hitting the stone gravel that made up the driveway to their house. He looks back, Sarah still standing there, waving to them.

He runs back to her, Sarah opening her arms for one final hug, stroking a hand through his hair. She hums. “Just promise me one thing, Steve.” He nods, Sarah holding him close. “Don't you ever forget who you are. It doesn't matter who you were meant to be." She places a hand over his heart. " _This_ is who you are. And being true to that means you always stand up for what you believe in.”

She lets him go, Bucky waiting on the driveway for him to catch back up. He turns and she’s still there, waving on the porch. Steve brings out his bravest smile and waves back. It isn’t until they reach the stone road beyond the tree line that he hears the screen door close. Steve sniffs, wiping at his eyes.

Bucky walks beside him in silence, eventually glancing back in the direction of the house.

“It must be hard to leave.”

Steve looks up from watching his feet on the road, looking at Bucky, who seems to be doing the same. He shrugs, looking back down. “I was planning to leave anyway.”  
Bucky furrows his brow. “Doesn’t make it less hard.”

“I guess not.”

“Then why do it?”

“It’s just…something I have to do.”

They walk for a while before a farmer—someone Steve thankfully didn’t know—offers to give them a ride. Steve helps Bucky up into the bed of the truck, riding in a pile of hay with an old dog that seemed to like the company. The farmer agrees to take them as far as the next town limits which is more than Steve was hoping for.

Bucky sits with the dog in his lap, petting him with a calculated gentleness. Steve hands him a sandwich Sarah had snuck into his bag. He studies it before taking a bite.

“So…” Bucky looks at him, Steve trying for a small smile. “You know where we’re going right? You remember where Dr. Erskine lived?”

He nods, returning Steve’s smile with that odd crooked one.

“New York.”


End file.
